5 Tenets
by CypressArtemis
Summary: There are certain codes one must follow when inducted into the brotherhood. Traditions long since forsaken with the death of the previous listener, yet the Dovahkiin has still managed to break them all anyway. Hinted, Lucien x Dovahkiin. Spoilers.
1. Haunting

**Title: **5 Tenets

**By: **CypressArtemis

**Summary: **There are certain codes one must follow when inducted into the brotherhood. Traditions long since forsaken with the death of the previous listener, yet the Dovahkiin has still managed to break them all anyway. Hinted, Lucien x Dovahkiin. Spoilers.

**Author Note:** There are possible spoilers, though this doesn't follow the Dark Brotherhood quest exactly as in the game. I threw in a few things of my own. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Kynesgrove didn't boast a reputation as being a most luxurious of places to spend an evening, especially if it involved being confined and stranded inside the only dingy inn available. To be honest compared to other providences it was poor and shabby, much like the people residing within.

Men shuffled miserably around in dirt covered clothing, pickaxes clutched in lumbering hands on their way home from the nearby mine carved into the mountainside, barely two septims to rub together despite all the strenuous manual labor. Women wore dusty dark dresses tainted with muck and ripped seams at the hem as they worked the fields, planting and digging up crops on their pitiful excuse of a farm. Stalks of wheat ready for harvest were left unattended while cabbages and potato plants occupied a small corner, attracting bugs to devoir some of the ignored harvest.

Pine trees stood towering and foreboding around the entrance and vast entirety of the settlement altogether, casting shadows amidst the stone path winding through town and the only inn within miles. When the wind blew the branches into a frenzied dance the jade needles swirled and littered the ground, giving the place a rich powerful scent of pine sap and fresh stripped bark.

The sun was dwindling on the horizon, the glowing ball plunging with each passing moment enveloped by darkness. The moon already visible in the darkening sky casts its pale luminescence against the blackened gold, a picture almost akin to a half burnt sweet roll. A traveler cloaked in sorrel leather attire stood at the precipice of a gapped stone wall. A stick of wood sprouted nearby harboring engraved arrows serving as direction markers to nearby holds.

A glance at the thick puffs of obsidian clouds that would be more appealing as plumes of smoke began to rumble menacingly overhead. A deep inhale of night air revealed the heavy damp scent of moisture clinging to the chilled breeze that rustled the trees filled the stranger's lungs. Vast rising in humidity over the past few miles left her skin clammy and senses seeking lodging of an adequate nature to serve as shelter for the now confirmed brewing storm.

The traveler shuffled onward after a belated pause, ears and eyes unnaturally aware of the surrounds as she watched the shadows grow and stretch to accommodate a large majority of the road and small buildings. Everywhere her eyes fell seemed oddly vacant and quiet as the townsfolk rushed indoors. The place rapidly became a ghost town in little more than five minutes as fields and mine lay abandoned.

Leather boots clanked up creaky wooden stairs of, what the hanging sign read as, Braidwood Inn before she maneuvered towards the door just as rain began pelting the roof. Her supple pink lips quirked in an odd mix of amused irritation. Half her brain and instincts were quite displeased, if not repulsed by the amount of noise she was making, while the other was satisfied in the utter lack of covertness.

Rational logic told her these were small town people, predictably unused to strangers, and the idea that they would respond favorably to a foreign individual clinging to the shadows like a phantom and sneaking about like a Khajiit were ludicrous. No, a warm welcome was not in the cards either way but there was little sense to be had in administering reasonable suspicion for the locals when they possessed something that was… Well not quite necessary but certainly favorable, in her best interests at the least.

Her bare hand pushed the rimy wooden door open as she took a few steps inward avoiding a spray of rain water. The door clamped shut behind her with a piercing click in her now recently sensitive ears, though the few people loitering in the main room appeared oblivious to what must be a subtle sound at best.

A drunkard nestled comfortably in a bench beside the door glared up from a half full tankard. His hazy brown eyes blinked ponderously up at her unfamiliar features and he grimaced, slamming the mug onto the tabletop as his eyes gave her a once over. The bronze drink sloshed about as droplets splashed out and pooled on the cheap putrefying wood.

"We don't like strangers here," he slurred with a grimace and stood on shaky legs. He didn't so much stand as he pitched and wobbled to and fro, one foot or another constantly shifting to steady his unbalanced body and keep him from toppling over like an overstuffed sack.

Grey-blue eyes blinked and regarded him from beneath a leather hood concealing and shading most of her face. A prickling sensation triggered up her spinal column to her nape, unpleasantly making her suddenly very aware of all the attention directed at the spectacle, at her. Glancing around there were at least six other occupants, mainly Nords, with multicolored eyes fixed sternly studying her like they were all mages and she a newly discovered spell tome.

So much attention was pesky and inconvenient, yes, though not unbearable. She wasn't here on business anyway so discretion wasn't a necessity.

The drunken blonde Nord staggered, his meaty hand slapping the table making the dishes clatter in protest. His chiseled face was taunt with resentment, his pupils dilated with drink, and a sneer made his mouth twitch at the corner as he snarled when he failed to startle her.

Attention shifted back to him. Her resolute to remain calm and impassive where tempted as his blundering form teetered and they were rendered face to face, quite an accomplishment considering her small stature in correlation to his own. Black eyebrows narrowed in distaste at the overwhelming stench of him at such close proximity.

She deciphered he was drinking Nord Mead by his warm sultry breath in her face, and quite a bit of it at that.

His breath held the hardy odor of honey and mint as he staggered uncomfortably close, his intoxicated state robbing him of the polite wherewithal of personal space. She stepped away at the offending closeness and overbearing smell of mead, earth, and sweat.

"Did you not heat me?" He snapped aggressively making her teeth grit and her fingers twitch with the urge to grip her sword. Apparently her silence thus far was irritating him, but she had no desire nor obligation to collaborate with an unreasonable drunk.

"Alright, that's enough." A woman paraded over like a scolding mother, her brown hair was tied back and her green dress flowed as she moved. Her footsteps were quick and heavy with purpose, her eyes warm and hopeful with little specks or irritation rather than gleaming with suspicion. "Customers are always welcome," she quirked a smile at the prospect of coin and beckoned the younger girl to follow while the Nord sat down and the inn resumed its natural state of clattering mugs and drunken mumblings.

When they reached the counter she leaned in to whisper, her voice low and dull from worry and hardship, "Ignore them. Drunk and angry the lot of them, but not harmful," She assured while leaning away and taking place behind the countertop. "I'm Iddra, the owner. Are you looking for a room by chance?"

The stranger nodded and reached up to push back the leather cowl revealing a head of flowing black tresses appearing soft as the finest silk and cut at the oddest of angles to frame her lith face.

Iddra couldn't help staring but this stranger was unlike anything she'd ever laid eyes on. Her hair was so unusual, parted on the right side a crop of ebony strands hung down the left side of her forehead reaching only about an inch past an icy blue eye, a second layer of strands on either side clipped featherlike chin level while the rest hung neatly below her shoulders. She had the typical paler skin custom to the Nord race, but she was a bit on the short side. Not to mention thin, almost a bit emaciated looking. Her small form wrapped in an uncustomary set of light leather armor. A decent hunting bow strapped to her back along with a quiver of steel tipped arrows and a menacing looking steel sword at her hip.

In all this girl was exceedingly curious, but what perturbed her most was the vivid silvery-blue of her eyes that seemed to shimmer in the light and glow brighter in the dark like a Khajiit, as well as that luscious flow of ebony that rivaled the ingots themselves. So clean, shiny, and silken was a feat only the richest of the rich could pull off. Being so clean simply wasn't heard of for lower and middle class dwelling in a residence, and as a traveler, forget about it. But that aside the two colors together were exceptionally rare in any race but nonexistent for the seafaring Nords who were renowned for both light hair and eyes.

She resisted the urge to cup her chin in her unnerved ponderings. Something was off but she couldn't place it or understand the source of her unease. The stranger had done nothing to invoke fear or hostility, appeared relatively shy in her quietness, and more importantly was a potential customer. Instead she swallowed back her nerves and gave the subtlest of smiles. "Food, perhaps?"

Iddra's mud brown hues couldn't help notice the look on the young woman's face when she emphasized the word food. Perhaps she could have been more subtle but this traveler had the appearance she hadn't eaten for days and was in a bad way. On closer inspection she could make out the dark rings under her eyes that stood as a testament of too little sleep were less than comforting. Usually she didn't care what her customers did, where they came from, or what condition they were in upon arrival but for some reason she truly did this time. "Do you have a name?"

The girl straightened and began to fish through her pocket producing a nice sized coin purse. "Rosalind," she finally answered in an enchanting musical lilt of a voice that made Iddra gasp. She had a voice a bard would kill for and any man would fall in love with. "I'm just looking to wait out the storm," she informed, digging out shiny bits of gold pieces from the pouch.

"Are you quite certain? We have many things available and I happen to be a very good cook as well." Iddra was being pushy and it came out in both tone and presentation but she was relieved to see the attractive traveler smile subtly with humor.

"If you insist." She laid her gold on the counter as Iddra waved a hand to a room just off to the right. "Just surprise me then."

Iddra laughed with delighted victory and swept up the coins to pocket them. "I'll bring you something shortly."

Rosalind found her room easy enough and stripped out of her weaponry, laying it inside a chest at the foot of her rented bed before shutting it with a clank. Sitting on the bundle of furs her fingers rubbed her tired eyes as she sat there till the friendly innkeeper made an appearance with a buffet on a tray.

She set it next to her with a smile before taking her leave. The entire contents contained a slice of goat cheese, a sweet roll smothered in still dripping gooey icing, sliced pieces of beef, grilled leaks, a horker loaf, a bowl of tomato soup accompanied by a slice of bread, a single red apple, and both spiced wine and a piping hot mug of tea.

She leaned sideways on the bed to glance out the doorway in search of the innkeeper, thinking quite surely there was no way that she had given the woman nearly enough coin for all this. She caught a glimpse of her grabbing a dark haired Breton by the arm to support him and lead him to his room. They caught each others' gaze for a moment and Iddra just gave her the faintest quirk of a smile and a nod as she drug the man away.

Iddra was much too nice for her own good.

Rose sat there for a moment before picking at the freshly made sweet roll and popped a piece into her mouth considering they were always best when they were hot. It was sweet and absolutely delicious and she polished it off in no time before sipping at her tea. She soon finished the soup and bread and resolved to packing the rest into her bag to take with her on the remaining journey to Windhelm.

Rolling up each individual item in strips of cloth to keep them from being soiled by any other knickknacks or potions she placed them at the top of the bag and tucked it away in the chest. Her fingers curled around her mug of tea and she placed the tray on the nightstand so it was out of the way.

A book laying on a nearby table caught her eye and she grabbed it, pacing back over to her bed she settled comfortably beneath a fur blanket and began to read as she sipped at her drink until exhaustion gripped her. She placed her things aside and hunkered down to get comfortable and shut her eyes.

Nightmares claimed her imagination as they often did when she chanced to sleep and she woke with the sun. Eyes snapping open as she sat upwards in a cold sweat, her heart thumping wildly, encased in its boney prison. Huffing she ran a hand through her disheveled hair and yanked the blankets away. The cool air hit her overly heated skin and she was standing within moments, opening the chest and yanking on her gear in great haste.

Draping her pack over her shoulder she yawned and began her descent through the uninhabited main room. Snores sounded from a few of the rooms and the smell of roasting meat from the hearth made her mouth water. The innkeeper was nowhere in sight so she strode to the door and shoved it open to step into a steam of morning sunlight.

It was still chilly from the evening shower as she stepped down the stairs and onto the path. The rocks were dark in color from being drenched and puddles of muddy water littered the ground. The whole place smelled like wet dirt and crushed pine needles and she marched north out of town all the while picking apart her piece of goat cheese.

It was late afternoon when she made it into Windhelm. Snow and ice embraced every inch of the settlement in its freezing clutches. Her Nord blood kept her relatively comfortable despite the harsh conditions but it was still cold and she huddled deeper into her leather armor. Clasping the leather strap of her satchel she yanked it from her shoulder and began rooting around till her fingers brushed the leather cover of a worn book.

Pulling her journal from her bag she flipped through a couple of yellowing pages, eyes scanning scripted ink till she found Vex's name and the name of the targeted house complete with the item in question. A simple burglary job shouldn't be too difficult at this time of day. Everyone was out and at work she just needed to avoid being caught by the guards. Get in, get out.

She shut the book and stuffed it back inside and began wandering around town in search of the Atheron residence. After a solid 15 minutes of roaming in circles it was becoming clear she was lost and she grumbled with an eye roll. Typical and just her luck. The whole town was one big maze of stone and ice.

Walking up some steps she spied a dark elf and a small boy standing by a house. They appeared to be having a lively discussion. Moving closer she noticed the dark elf glance at her briefly then disregard her existence altogether before responding to the young boy. She wouldn't be surprised if the Dunmer pegged her for an eavesdropper, granted she was a majority of the time these days, though not usually on purpose. All she really needed was some directions and a plausible lie.

"Then I'll invite him out to play. He lives right there. I'm going to knock on his door," the slyness in his juvenile voice taunted the old elf as he threatened to make an advance towards the nearby door, a toothy grin on his young face as she called his bluff.

"No, child don't! That house, that family, their cursed!" The Dunmer practically shouted her warning, sounding quite panicked at the notion, yet the small boy simply chuckled knowing he had tricked her.

He folded his tiny arms looking quite pleased with himself. "Then I was right. He's trying to have someone killed."

The woman sighed defeated and relented with great displeasure on her brow. "Alright. I won't deny it, child. What you heard is true. But Aventus walks a dark path. His actions can lead only to ruin." She sounded much like a stern mother hen, clucking advice with a hinted hopefulness that her chick would obey and not rebel. A safe bet considering his age, but beware the years he became a man. And a Nord man at that. Always thinking they have something to prove, the lust for battle running deep in their blood, and a yearning for glory in their hearts.

The small portion of the conversation she had overheard peaked her interest immensely, curiosity seized her and forced her legs to approach the dark elf. "Excuse me, did I hear you say something about a curse?"

The Dunmer crosser her arms against her chest, her green apron stood out against her blue dress as she frowned disapprovingly but answered in the signature accent of her people. "Aventus Aretino. A young boy sent to an orphanage in Riften after the death of his mother. Apparently he ran away and came back and is now attempting to summon the Dark Brotherhood. Why a little boy would want to contact a group of murderers is beyond me, but he is inviting evil into this city." She hissed the word evil for good measure, for that's all the Dark Brotherhood really was.

"I see," Rosalind paused and ventured a gaze towards the door; an inquisitive raise of an eyebrow at these so called murders caused the elf to squint oddly. The door looked old and ill kept along with the house, the wood chipped and the lock rusted in bronzed streaks. "Well thank you."

Idesa nodded and began ushering the young boy away earnestly and up a set of stairs. Rose waited till they were out of sight before crouching low beside the door. A wary glimpse at her surroundings showed no guards nearby so she slipped a lockpick from her front armor pocket.

A couple adjustments, some fiddling, and a click later she was slithering into the house through a miniscule crack in the doorway. Once inside she could hear the voice of a young boy emanating through the house chanting a strange prayer. The smell of decay, wax, and nightshade was overpowering and burned her nose as she slunk up the stairs towards the noise. The farther in she ventured the worse the stench got and she buried the lower half of her face in the crook of her elbow to stifle it.

Aventus sat hunched over on his knees, a dagger in one hand repeatedly stabbed at an effigy of human bones, a perfect skeleton laid out in pieces with precise care. A putrefied hunk of human flesh and a heart rotting, stabbed, and coagulated adorned the remains radiating that fowl corrosive stench that made her blood churn dangerously. A circle of gleaming candles illuminated the grotesque scene of decaying remains. A book and a nightshade stem were strewn off to the side. The plant petals were bruised and crinkled from being smeared across the steal blade.

The Imperial child jumped to his feet in excitement at the sight of her, which she found slightly disturbing. "I knew you'd come! I just knew it!"

Her body straightened into a standing position and she towered over him, forcing her arm away from her puzzled face. "What?"

His face and voice were filled with utter rapture and for a moment she wondered if he was going to jump about in ecstasy like a small child excited over sweets. Thankfully, no such event occurred but his response was matter of fact and straight to the point. "I did the Black Sacrament over and over, with the body and the… things. And you came!"

Black Sacrament? It definitely sounded connected to this group of murders, which she most certainly was not. A thief, yes. But not a killer for hire. "I'm not who you think I am."

He scoffed. "Sure you are. You're an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood and now that you're here you'll accept my contract!"

"Contract?" She frowned, bewildered.

"My mother… she died. I'm all alone now so they sent me to the Honorhall orphanage in Riften. It's terrible! The headmistress is an evil cruel woman. They call her Grelod The Kind," his melancholy took shape to something dark and irate. His eyes seemed blacker than normal and his face twisted in a way she'd only seen mask her enemies in combat just at the mere mention of such a place. He mocked the woman's name with scorn before snarling, "But she's not kind. She's terrible to all of us! So I ran away and performed the Black Sacrament. Now you're here and you can kill Grelod!"

Rose backed away a few steps while the boy beamed brighter than the sun in Elsweyr, a smile now on his face as he stared at her. His sudden happiness probably meant he assumed she was taking her leave to fulfill his presented task.

She left the ecstatic boy behind, departing quickly without caring if she was spotted exiting the house, wanting nothing to do with this murder. The child seemed so happy she couldn't see breaking his heart by telling him she wasn't going to complete the job so she stalked the streets in search of her original objective.

These things had a tendency to fade away with age. He'd forget all about it soon enough and go on to live a happy normal life.

One burglary later she was on the road again back to Riften.

Walking took several days but it helped to clear the mind somewhat at least. A few bandits had attempted to rob her on the way, not to mention the wolf packs that saw travelers as easy prey, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. The most disturbing thing she had run into on the way back was a rather curious jester stuck near a farm north of Whiterun. On his way to bury his mother he said when the front wheel gave way, but who could tell. The man was positively insane. Either that or an exceptional actor. Still she took sympathy on the poor Imperial, crazy or not, and convinced Loreius to help him, which made him giddy and dance about humorously.

On the positive end she made good time as she entered the city, making a beeline towards the secret entrance of the Thieves Guild. Guards made snarky remarks about her armor as she passed through the streets. Brynjolf was manning a stale in the marketplace dressed in the same fancy clothing she'd first met him in while peddling his newest 'potion.' He sent her a playful smirk and a wink as she passed by, his heavily accented voice charming hordes out of coin with false promises.

She continued on as she made sure he saw her shake her head at him which only caused a teasing smile to grace his lips. She would see him later. Pressing the button, the stone slab skid over the rocks to reveal a wooden manhole. Pulling it open she climbed down the ladder and made straight for the Flaggen before anyone could stall her with conversation.

Vex was leaning against a stack of boxes in her usual place across from the bar, her brown eyes full of expectation as the apprentice thief approached the superior and handed over a jeweled goblet. The blonde took it and handed her a coin purse. "I hear you managed not to botch it up, good. Here's your share."

She pocketed her earnings and made for the exit ignoring Vex's scolding about not taking any more work. Something was gnawing at her from the inside, a questioning fire that needed stifled before anything else could even be considered.

Her days spent wandering the roads were peaceful but brought several contemplations. She marched through the streets, ducking and dodging through the public while also avoiding her higher up, done with his day of peddling fraudulent sewer water. Not an easy task. The man was immensely persistent, especially when it came to money or a new job he had lined up for her. Still she had managed to create a human obstacle course by weaving through the crowd and ducking behind a stone wall.

He hadn't pursued long after that. Simply chuckled and headed into the Bee And Barb for a well earned mug of ale.

"Hands to yourself sneak thief," a guard hissed while passing. A scowl adorned her usually calm face as she waited till he was well out of distance before growling low in her throat, vowing to pickpocket the snarky man later. She was running low on arrows anyway.

Pushing onward she halted by the wooden doors. Bushes and trees decorated the left hand side of the building accompanied by a few flowers that a monarch butterfly chose as a perch. A great metal sight above the door read 'Honorhall Orphange.'

Raising her arm she rested her palm on the rough dry wood in hesitation. It wasn't too late to turn back. She could just walk away and pretend she was never there, that Aventus Aretino never happened, but it was like an invisible force urged her onward, literally. She could swear she felt the imprint of a hand press into her lower back, lightly bunching the thick protective leather when the palm applied pressure to physically nudge and encourage her forward.

It wasn't the first time for such a bizarre occurrence, but it still made her look over her shoulder expecting to see someone and being sourly disappointed and edgy when all that greeted her was empty space. First she figured it was someone using a scroll, or a potion, even a spell to cloak them in invisibility but if she swiped at the air there was no physical mass relevant. Not to mention the fact that warmth from body heat was undetectable. Not a scent permeated the air, not even a heartbeat could be heard. It was… unnerving.

Another rather forceful press in her back had her stumbling inside, more in a desperate desire to escape from the weird frightening sensation than anything else. Her heart jumped into a slight incline of beats before settling into its normal rhythm as she shut the door behind her quickly. May the presence stay outside and away from her where it belonged, if it ever was there to begin with. She scowled. Sheogorath must be beaming, having a great laugh at her wavering sanity.

An elderly woman's berating voice suddenly boomed, cutting through her thoughts of the crafty demented daedra like a knife. "Those that short their chores will get extra beatings! And there will be no more talk of adoptions. None of you riffraff are going anywhere. Nobody needs you, nobody wants you."

Her shrill voice like the scraping of metal over the grinding stone made her draw back at the offending tone while the appalling speech made her surge forward in outrage. Her footsteps light but stalking, a deep rumbling slithering within her chest towards her throat, pearl white teeth revealed in a sneer in a blind furry that lasted only moments.

"That my darlings are why you're here. Why you'll always be here until you come of age and get thrown into that wide horrible world." She paused regarding the mass of children lined up in a half circle about her. Beds lined the walls on either side as the children frowned deeply and all mumbled out a thank you before they were dismissed to bed.

The intruding thief stopped, lips still pulled back in a silent growl when the old woman turned and scowled menacingly at her. "You shouldn't be here. None of them are up for adoption."

Rose's blue gaze burned fiercely as they scanned the elder's face then the room. Ignoring her begrudging threats about calling the guards she sauntered through the room as the children crawled into bed, pulling the blankets over their faces to hide tears. Pacing the room with all the preciseness of a thief and warrior she pushed open a set of doors.

The older woman scampered forward, her boney fingers like skeletal hands clutching tightly to her upper arm to yank her towards the door. The room was tiny and rusted shackles lined the three adjoining walls. "You need to leave," her hiss made another younger woman appear in the doorway. This newcomer clutched nervously at her dress as Rose pulled her arm away, glaring and advancing like a wild animal, foreboding and intimidating enough to make this Grelod shrivel back.

"I'm leaving," she stopped and made a few steps for the door before looking back. A cocky smirk tugged condescending at her lips. "Aventus Aretino says hi."

The other woman gasped and as Rosalind listened to the door screeched closed behind her she could her Grelod's grating voice creaking. "Arentino, that miserable little bastard. If I ever see him again it'll be the beating of his miserable life."

The threat was finalized with the slam of the door and for the first time in a very long while the dragonborn made pace for the Bee And Barb.

The place still smelled thick of mildew, fire soot, and mead and she shrank into an empty stole at the counter. Her hand came up to brush her hood back to reveal the entirety of her face. The female Argonian, Keerava, halted in her cleaning. The dishrag limp in her tan scaled hand as her copper eyes shown with unease and displeasure.

Sighing she leaned forward, her husky voice dropped to a whisper as she continued to wipe the countertop of spilled ale. "Look I already paid off my debt and told Brynjolf he won't get any more trouble from me."

Rose lifted a hand rubbing at her now aching forehead as she signed regretfully. Keerava was her one regret when her superior had sent her debt collecting. She appeared rough around the edges but deep down was an unwavering loyalty to family and exploiting it made her feel ashamed. It was a low move, but there were no other alternate courses. Even worse she had dragged Talen-jei into it all which is why she spent spare time rummaging Skyrim in search of those flawless amethysts. A small hope at making amends to the couple and with two in her pocket victory was close enough to taste but taunt in failed attempts.

Leaning back her arm dropped to her pocket to pull out a few septims and lay them amongst the counter. "I'm only here for a drink," she paused making eye contact with the Argonian. Maybe she could see her earnestness; the sorry in her eyes but the deep orange-red only blinked disbelieving. "Please."

"It's your money," she responded and straitened, pulling a mug out from beneath the bar. "What shall it be?"

"Perhaps one of my special drinks this time?" The swamp green and orange lizard sauntered up, edgy and eavesdropping but who could blame him. She was only welcome because she had powerful connections. After all she had done Talen-jei made it clear they despised her but were powerless to do anything about it. They simply tolerated her prescience because of the red haired thief currently sipping his ale in the corner and laughing raucously with an underling.

"Special drinks?" She inquired as Talen-jei mustered his may on the empty seat beside her, eyes ever watchful. She assumed he was more keeping tabs on her than being actually friendly.

"Three in fact, my own recipe. Brought them over from my days as a bartender in Gideon." He informed, his gaze shifting and softening at the sight of the other Argonian who turned away to help another customer. "First is the Velvet Lachance, which is a mixture of blackberry, honey, spiced wine, and a touch of nightshade."

Her eyes crinkled at said poisonous ingredient and his eyes sparkled with humor. "Perfectly safe I assure you. Next is the White-Gold Tower, which is heavy cream with a layer of blended mead, lavender and dragons tongue on top. Last, and only for the bravest of souls, we have the Cliff Racer, made of firebrand wine, Cyrodiilic brandy, flin, and sujamma."

"Hmm," She hummed in thought, playing over the ingredients and trying to keep them straight. Quite difficult considering the number of them. "Well that blackberry one sounds good."

"Ah, the Velvet Lachance," he re-pronounced with assurance and a twinge of a smile.

Keerava returned, pouring the beverage from a flagon and arranging a sprinkling of nightshade leaves to decorate the top pleasantly as she slid it across the table. "Quite popular that one." The Argonian couple smiled at one another as if sharing a private joke.

Rosalind clutched the mug, simply holding it between her fingers as she stared at the deep red color of the drink, the blackberry juice staining it dark but lightened by the wine and honey. The shredded petals were her hesitant cause of unease, but even if the couple did hate her they would never poison her in front of a room of witnesses, let alone Brynjolf.

"Are you going to drink it, or stare at it all night?" Talen-jei's thick accent resounded next to her ear compelling her to lift the tankard and sip the bittersweet drink. A plethora of spices joined the sweet tang of honey counteracted by the juice of the blackberry was pleasantly tasty. "Good?"

She nodded as she swallowed, her tongue licking a drop off her lip. "Bit of an odd name though."

"Yes quite," he nodded, "named in tribute of a famous assassin."

Surprise decorated her face, her eyes narrowed as she turned fully to the deep green scaled male. "It was named after an assassin?" Her finger traced the outer rim of the mug, making a few complete circles as they stared at one another. "That's not comforting, especially with the nightshade."

It was quiet for a moment before the male erupted in throaty laughter. "I assure you it is perfectly safe. I have been serving it for years."

Her eyes squinted with interest. "Who was it named after?"

Talen's head tilted slightly and his fingers drummed over the wooden countertop. "A Dark Brotherhood assassin in Cyrodiil from, roughly, 200 years ago. No one knows the full story of course. They are very secretive organization after all."

A party of drunken Nords in the far corner decided it was about time to show off their impressive fighting skills and as two began a fistfight one stumbled blindly into a table, falling over it and breaking one of the legs with a loud crack. His heavy muscled form sent it topping over, the heavy wood dropping over his steel armored chest as his buddies laughed restlessly.

Talen-jei released a throaty hiss of a sigh and stood to clean up the mess. "Excuse me, I have other things to do."

Rose could only nod and watch him stalk over angrily and shoo the drunks away from the handicapped table that found the rest of its parts snapped off and tossed onto a roaring fire. She sipped her drink occasionally, the noise of conversation surrounded her, the clank of tankards, the crackling from the hearth, yet somehow everything seemed so… distant.

Brynjolf had ducked out the door in the prescience of some blonde Nord she had stolen a statue from weeks prior. Haelga, the Dibella worshipper. Too bad, she wouldn't mind his company for a change. It would give her someone to talk to that didn't want to see her head mounted on a pike by the Riften gates.

Sighing she crossed her leather clad arms over the table and lay her chin against them.

Keerava began to tidy things up as the absence of customers gave her a temporary break. She plucked the now empty mug off the counter noticing the way the thief's eyes began to droop with fatigue and sheer boredom. A dreamy lost look in steel blue irises as dark circles began to pool and stain beneath them. "Perhaps you should consider renting a room for the night."

"I'm fine," she grumbled picking at a flaking piece of wood grain while Keerava muttered a series of grunts and hisses, her native language, while wiping down a mug and turning her back.

The barstool beside her squeaked in protest as a force manifested in it, making the Argonian turn to service another customer. The unfocused thief continued to pick the wood until she noticed the absence of Keerava's speaking. The woman was always on top of things. Customers never had to wait long, even on the busiest of days, and seeing as how the woman had nothing to do at the moment other then to polish her mug to an absolute shine it was bewildering that the deep rumbling hiss of her accent wasn't taking an order.

Likewise there was no response from beside her and when her eyes flicked to the side she found out why.

There simply was no one there.

Ebony eyebrows furrowed, her gaze lingering unblinkingly on unhindered air as Keerava continued with her busy work. She was now sweeping the floor, the cornstalk bristles scraping against the wood she finally looked away. A nearby candle flickered and another creek, as though someone was shifting in their seat disturbed the emptiness beside her. Only this time the innkeeper took no notice.

Rosalind bit on her lower lip, a creeping sense of foreboding unease prickled her neck and tossed her belly. She could feel her heart rate escalate as she convinced herself not to look over at what was the source of her discomfort. Swallowing she maneuvered in the seat, placing a few coins in tip on the counter for the struggling innkeeper as she took a moment to collect the courage to slink past the unearthly presence.

The only way out of the inn meant passing that one particular stool.

Breathing deep she calmed herself, quelling the fear. It was quiet. The stool hadn't made any noises and it was very possible it was just old. Old wood creaks. It was silly to think it was anything else, ridiculous even.

She scoffed a tiny smile on the corner of her mouth as she gathered her things to leave. She leaned over to grab her bag, a crop of black hair sliding onto her face as she did so. When she sat up forward again the Argonian had pocketed her gold and was situating a tray to take to a nearby table. Her footsteps stalked around the corner as Rose situated her bag on her shoulder and then _something_ bushed her hair.

Cold as fresh snow, as death against her cheek.

_Something_ traced her cheekbone, pushing the black strands away like a curtain and tucking them behind her ear.

For a second her heart hammered with adrenaline and she gasped going rigidly still beneath the freezing chill of inhuman fingers. She was paralyzed with fright, shameful as it was to admit. She had heard of it happening to others before, like whelps in the midst of their first battles, but never her. She fought bandits, saber cats, trolls, dragons for Akatosh's sake and had never been choked up, but for a split second she was actually petrified into a standstill.

Once the frigid caress broke away it was like whatever control it possessed over her body dissolved along with it and she lurched backwards onto her feet, toppling the stool over with a clatter. A series of heads turned to stare at her as she stood in the center of the room, heaving breath like a horse worked over its limit, eyes fixated on nothing before bolting out of the inn.

She ran down the alleyway and over the bridge to Honeyside. Shoving open the door she dashed inside and slammed it shut, locking it before turning around to lean against it. Slowly she caught her breath and sank to the floor to sit legs bent, knees in the air, and scrunched up tight against the solid bulk like a hedgehog in a ball.

Her housecarl, Iona, practically sprinted up the basement stairs and into the kitchen, her steel war ax drawn and poised for attack. "My Thane, is everything alright?"

Rosalind nodded and shooed her away with a hand and after much reluctance the older woman finally took the hint, sheathed her weapon, and retreated to her room. Uncurling she finally stood up and paced to her bedroom, throwing her pack on the floor and shoving her weapons onto the chest she crawled into the bed.

The fur blankets found themselves over her head, her eyes squinted shut tight enough to make spots of color dance behind the lids. Every sound sent her on edge, even the ones that were familiar which made falling asleep exceedingly difficult, though eventually she had managed.

A short fit of restless sleep was cut abruptly shorter when a weight settled onto the bed, dipping the mattress and startling her awake. Her blue eyes snapped open as she lay motionless on her stomach, her head resting sideways on the pillow so all she could make out was the wardrobe in the dark room.

A hand snaked out slowly inching towards a candle on the nightstand. If she moved slowly enough maybe the intruder wouldn't notice she was awake. The silence was deafening, her hand quivering as each moment brought her fingers closer to the bronze handle.

Almost there.

They barely grazed the grooved metal when her wrist was caught and pinned to the bed beside her waist. The trespasser maneuvered above her, straddling her petite body, pinning her arm down with a knee as a flat solid chest bore down on her back.

The solid form of the intruder lay firm and flush upon her back keeping her pressed to the bed while also making it slightly difficult to breath. It was definitely a male and he was heavy, and tall, taller than her for sure, and his dead weight made him seem like he weighed more than any bulky Nord she had ever come across. Even without armor he was suffocating her.

The man leaned down, his nose resting against the crown of her head just at her hairline, his mouth lined up perfectly with her ear. She felt him breath a few times through his nose. A cool gust of air ghosted her skin and made her hair sway.

She should fight, scream, use a spell, a shout, something, but again that familiar sense of pure terror, mind numbing and paralyzing, held her motionless.

His hand roamed from her right shoulder blade listlessly, unhurried, in its descent upward. Cupping the bulge of her shoulder he squeezed then drifting his fingers gently to the juncture that joined it to her neck. He was toying with her, moving so slowly, excruciatingly, his fingers traced the side of her throat hovering over her throbbing pulse enjoying the feel of the wild frantic beats.

His touch lingered a frightfully long time on her jugular before he threaded his hand in her hair, clasping her head and holding it down on the pillow.

The dagger came next.

Freezing sharp steal, like the blade had spent a week soaked in the coldest snow of Windhelm. As the weapon traced sadistic and taunting over her throat, mapping out the path of his fingers, she felt his lips touch her ear, whispering like a lover.

"I could kill you now," he insinuated, confidence radiated in the aspect. His breath tickled making her shudder. The deep tone of his voice was dark, authoritative, and seductive in a dangerous way. "If I wanted."

The weight suddenly lifted and he was gone, the room empty save for her. She was free and she scrambled in great haste out of the bed running through the house, a silent scream on her lips as she tore into her housecarl's room never once glancing back. The woman startled from her sleep, yawned and hastily pulled herself up. "My Thane?"

* * *

"Lucien." She purred. The blond Nord leaned over a table staring at the map that adorned the smooth surface. She had been waiting in the main room for his return, regarding him with a prying stare when his spectral form slinked soundlessly into the sanctuary upon the wee hours of the morning.

She glanced at him, a certain hidden knowledge speckled her eyes with an underlying confusion. He almost smiled in amused mockery. She knew he was up to something, knew something important, but just what his intentions were alluded her grasp and this pleased him vehemently. "I summon you here in order to offer insight considering your _once_ high station… Yet somehow you always manage to disappear for prolonged lengths of time."

Her ire rose at his condescending expression, unfazed by her subtle insinuation that his status was of no longer relevance, but her face was calm when she pivoted towards him. Unwilling to let her displeasure show, let him know his secretive nature was getting the better of her. Making her quiver in a jittery way that was most unpleasant. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Despite the urge to smirk his face remained stoic, his voice lilting in an almost playful way at her desperation. "Dear sister, what would I have _need_ to tell you?"

Astrid's face fell as she frowned at his reluctance to answer her inquiry. She was the leader of the Brotherhood now and had been for some time. Every bit of knowledge was essential to her, especially that which only the phantom Speaker could provide from the Void, but he was stubborn.

It was no secret that the once acclaimed assassin wasn't exactly her number one fan. She had been in possession of his summoning spell for many years and in all those years she had learned many things about him and his personality. He was the definition of a contradiction. Playful yet serious, charming with his unusual fondness for etiquette but underneath was a great potential to be exceedingly rude, and loving yet sadistic in nature. He had a deep resounding loyalty to the Brotherhood yet he once ordered the annihilation of an entire sanctuary. He was… complex.

He could be a powerful ally or a deadly enemy.

"For starters," she continued, fishing for clues, "how about were you go."

"Windhelm." He replied instantaneously, moving about the room as he folded his arms, growing ever disinterested at the redundancy. His ghostly blue robes hid his hands and his hood covered his face enough to give a hint of mystery.

"Windhelm? What would you need in such a desolate place?" Her brow rose as she watched him wander about, glancing at pointless things. She never really understood why he did that. What was so fascinating about a bowl of apples?

Lucien's spectral hand plucked a ripe red fruit from the bowl and he twirled it in his hand. The familiar weight and texture felt good and he found himself thinking just how amazing some nightshade and a little deathbell would do wonders. "A young boy prays to our mother."

Astrid signed and her fingers pinched the base of her nose. Not this again. "Lucien, I've already told you we will not accept such a petty contract. A child's contract will not grant us the fear we seek." She paused considering all the reasons not to waste her time on such a stupid assassination. "Besides, it is a waste of our resources."

The specter scowled disapprovingly as he placed the apple back among the rest. "Our terrible matron demands all contracts be fulfilled." His voice was lowered in warning, dangerous, and his eyes, once honeyed brown, now black and glinting cold like the void. "Even the, tedious ones."

She was intimidated but not scared. He was bound by the tenets of old and he would never kill her, no matter how angry she made him. "The old ways are over. I am in charge now and I say it is a waste of our time."

"As you wish." His anger spiked immensely, eyes narrowed disdainfully at the Nord who scorned all he held dear. He let the hatred seep into his voice. He was still loyal to the old ways, to Sithis and the Night Mother. Astrid enraged him with her talk of change and abandonment of all the sacred traditions that kept the family going for generations. "I will take my leave."

"Lucien." Astrid smiled at his irritation. Sometimes she enjoyed getting under his skin. It meant that despite all his resistance she had the power, not him. "Why must you insist on making this difficult? You know I can just summon you again tomorrow." She pointed out but her words had no affect on him as his spiritual form vanished from existence, leaving her alone in the room as he ventured back to the frozen embrace of the Dread Father and his unholy bride.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Well this is the introduction. I had planned on making it all just a one-shot but it was getting to be quite long so I decided to break it up. There will be a max total of 6 chapters, this one and a chapter for each Tenent.

Hope you enjoyed.


	2. Tenet 1

**Title: **5 Tenets

**By: **CypressArtemis

**Summary: **There are certain codes one must follow when inducted into the brotherhood. Traditions long since forsaken with the death of the previous listener, yet the Dovahkiin has still managed to break them all anyway. Hinted, Lucien x Dovahkiin. Spoilers.

* * *

Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis.

Sithis was revered as a god amongst gods, predating all others. A vast abyss of dark nothingness, a black hole in the wrinkle of time and space, not plagued by petty mortal hindrances such as illness and death. The sole creator of the Daedra they arose from the rank malevolence saturating his blood, a contributor in his brother's birth and the birth of all Aedra.

The Dread Father was all powerful, all knowing. The "True God" who existed before everything and whose chaotic nature planted the seeds of life, blossoming in the form of all other deities and demigods.

It was his word the Dark Brotherhood revered, even the initially unwilling eventually submitted and headed his calling. The 'good' turned 'evil', always reluctant in the beginning, found place within the ranks of devout assassins.

In the end they always bend their will to him.

She was no exception.

Desperation could make the mortal masses do the craziest of things.

Money was always quite the incentive. It was a requirement to live in this day and age and despite taking odd jobs for the Thieves Guild or lending aid to random strangers it just wasn't enough. A string of 'bad luck' seemed to follow the petite Nord as she traversed the countryside, from being ambushed by bandits and mages, to being nearly killed by a dragon, to witnessing the fall of her traveling companion on the iced slopes of the tundra.

The expression of pure horror on Vorstag's face as some invisible force shoved him towards a menacing bandit was still plaguing her mind. The fur covered Orc brandished a steel mace and swung for his head. In a rush it all happened so fast. The bow in her hand, the release of an arrow embedding into his neck in a spurt of scarlet fluid stained the glistening ice crystals.

The fallen Orc lay still as a drauger. Her boot prints leaving tracks in the snow as she rushed forward in an attempt to grab her follower as he stumbled frantically, slipping and sliding till his boots struck the Orc's burly side. He fell over, flipping across the dead body to plummet down the hill. The resounding crack of his neck was sickening as she clambered downward. A brief moment of mourning was all that was permitted for fear that the scent of spilt blood and decay would attract wild animals stronger than Meridia's beacon.

An incineration spell and a melted puddle of scorched rock was all that remained of such a faithful man.

At the end of the long journey to Solitude and back to Riften had left the girl battered, poverty-stricken, and heartbroken. It was the prospect of coin, survival, that had her truly reconsidering the proposition from the small child, but in truth it was emotions that had sent her into the act itself.

Her severe distaste for the woman could be ignored but the evident abuse going on behind the orphanage's closed doors was enough to rationalize the benevolence behind the tragedy. Sending her into a furious rage when she finally returned in the middle of the night.

The place had no windows. It was bleak and colorless, dull and foreboding with promises of anguish. Sneaking in through a window was not optional. The back door was surrounded by bushes and gates to avoid trespassers, or escape. A jail in disguise.

No, getting inside would have to happen through the front. But there were obstacles to be overcome. Guards patrolled the streets in shifts, merchants manned stalls till near 9pm, and then there was the matter of when those inside laid to rest for the night.

Like any true hunter Rosalind patrolled the streets with watchful eyes for several days. Aela had taught her many things when she joined the companions. Taking her out to the woods, bows and quiver full of arrows in hand to "pound the knowledge of the hunt" into her.

A straight back and balanced posture were key to ensuring that any shifting wouldn't throw off the arrow's velocity. Eyeing the target and using hands to line up her sights always produced a wound. But the shooting was easy compared to the actual stalking itself.

It required a great amount of patience and sure quiet footing as well as the knowledge of how to mask her smell from animals so as to not give away position. Humans were far easier prey than animals. They could not sense her anywhere near as simply and they didn't spook at every sound. Remaining still and hunkered in an adequate hiding place till the perfect opportunity presented itself was sufficient. If they didn't see her then she simply was not there.

Opportunity, though, was the most important detail. Knowing when the timing was just right, predicting the outcome of the shot, consequences of a miss. Precision relied on the distance and pace of the target. The faster it moved and at a great distance required a bit of an arch and a release well before the target's path so they would walk right into it. A game of timing and chance.

She loitered around the doors at night, straining an ear to note the noises inside. When they started. When they stopped. It was only when the guards came strolling around that she abandoned her position. Suspicion was beginning to arouse between the troops for the first few nights when they would catch her, but she eventually learned the pattern of their rotation and avoided being there when they passed the orphanage.

Heat died down and when she noticed that their eyes no longer lingered cautiously on her it was time to put the plan in motion. 3:17am was a good time. All the merchants were long gone, sleeping off a day of sales. The orphanage was devoid of sound save for snores from the children, and the patrolling guard would have passed by and been halfway across the bridge on the other side of Riften. It gave her approximately 26 minutes to get in, make the kill, and get out without detection.

Her thief armor clung to her body as she hunched in the bushes beside the door, perfectly hidden from view in the darkness of night and shadows combined. The heavy clank of boots on wood sauntered past and she peeked around the corner, watching the purple mass disappear around the corner of the blacksmith building and the inn.

Silently she slinked closer to the door, nudging it open a crack and ignoring the prickle on her neck as a bitter breeze embraced her nape. She resisted the shudder of knowing her ever-present company had shown up to bear witness to bloodshed.

The unearthly spirit seemed to enjoy the suffering of others and the thrill of killing. He always showed up at the most inopportune times and the only time he was not looming over her was when he was altering her life in drastic ways or basking in the bloodshed of random bandit attacks or zombified dungeons.

He particularly enjoyed making nightly visits, especially when she was attempting to sleep, though nothing near as terrifying as the night he had held a dagger to her throat had occurred since. She could feel her bed dip with his weight some nights as though he were sitting next to her, watching her. Had the wraith not been quite so evil she may have thought he was watching over her.

Other times she heard the scraping of a chair being drug across the floor or pushed up into the table. The dull flip of paper sounding and when she finally had courage enough to venture out of the bedroom she would see a half melted candle dripping searing white into a growing puddle. A book or journal would lay open on the surface. Sometimes an alchemy recipe would find its way from the basement to the kitchen during the night or random potions and poisons would be sitting on her nightstand.

Rarely would she feel a physical touch, but when she did it was hardly what she considered _nice_ and sometime she swore she could hear the depth of that honeyed voice chuckle when she lunged away.

At this very moment, as she creaked the door open just a crack and slithered in as quiet and deadly as a serpent she could feel his breath and solid form press against her, dedicated and insistent on following.

Through the trembling of her limbs she managed to maneuver around the layout without detection and ignored the spirit as much as possible. She crept through the main room where the children slept and into the back where the old woman's bedroom happened to be located.

The door was shut and she had to inch it open bit by bit so the creak wouldn't alert anyone. The ghost's cold hands splayed over her shoulders, squeezing when her impatience began to conjure and urge her to throw open the doors already. She startled, falling still as an arm draped across her neck, an invisible hand cupping over her mouth. He was stifling her and she trembled, eyes dilating fearfully when he forced her back into his chest, crushing the air from her lungs.

"Impatience, the assassin's greatest enemy." Scolding and irritated like a fed up teacher tired of teaching the un-teachable.

His touch melted away like icicles in the sunlight and she swallowed hard, steadying her hand as she went to inch the door back open. Once adequate she moved into the small opening and watched the steady rise and fall of Grelod's ancient chest. Her wrinkled face, marred and lined with anger even in the depths of sleep.

For a moment she considered her bow or leaving a vile of mislabeled poison on the nightstand, but for an odd reason it didn't seem… _personal_ enough.

Teeth gritted in a snarl, her insides suddenly on fire as a ringing began in her ears. The thick bones of her legs and arms began to hurt, radiating throughout her body much like the growing pains of adolescent experiences in the throws of puberty, just more intense. Her teeth began to throb painfully, her tongue rubbing over her gums to taste the copper of blood. A wave of nausea rose up her throat as she resisted the agony while tears sprang to her stinging eyes.

Holding her breath she remained still, quivering in pain till it finally subsided minutes later. Wiping the sweat from her forehead she drew a dagger and inhaled deep, overcome by the bloodlust lurking within she prowled closer. Rising the blade it hovered foretelling over the witch of a woman and finally sank into aged expanse of flesh, tendon, and veins, spraying blood about the room, coating the walls and dripping down her face and flowing hair.

The old hag never had a chance to even make a sound.

So in the end she had killed the old woman, fulfilled the contract that Astrid refused, and had gone out to kill the thieving lover and betraying sister after her initiation into the organization. It was done, all as Sithis wanted and when she returned to the sanctuary she was shocked to see the jester from her travels so long ago.

The welcome committee was quite unenthusiastic to his prescience, only accepting the insane man because of his sacred position as keeper and Astrid's façade of kindness for a fellow brother. Most were not genuine which she found as she went about the sanctuary and asked each individual member their opinion on the matter.

After a multitude of responses she abandoned the mundane task to see about her reward, bypassing the rather large crate and the giddy Imperial snickering manically to himself. Humorous as he was there was no denying the man sent chills through her. His very nature made her standoffish towards him but when he looked her way with recognition she cast a wary smile his way and crept to the main entrance before he could stop her.

Astrid was standing before the table, map faceup with a steel dagger stabbed through a section to the right. It seemed someone had gotten angry and decided to thrust the metal into the wood rather than the guts of an innocent. She stopped dead in her tracks, nearly toppling over when the phantom blue form of a ghost lingered in a spot before the corridor leading to the large black skull door.

He appeared bored up until now, all crossed arms and blank face. Her appearance grabbed his attention and their eyes truly met for the first time. The black depths brightened, a mischievousness one might see in a saber cat as it circles an elk was illuminated there. All amused and playful, knowing their power over the weaker creature and finding sadistic humor in the pathetic attempts to flee. He was the predator in the room and it clicked just where all her 'bad luck' had been coming from.

Astrid took as little of the specter into consideration as one might a rusted candlestick as she regarded her with a dull interest. Not fully attentive yet not fully immersed either, passive, the blond had a way of always making her feel insignificant. The woman had taken the liberty of bestowing upon her a bonus for going the extra mile along with a rather faded piece if paper.

"I'm giving you this spell." She handed over the worn scroll to her. Its brown texture was rough like prehistoric parchment, stained and discolored with years and dust. Small tears were evident along the rolled edges and Astrid's smile, though subtle, widened as she gestured towards the now sulking apparition. "To summon Lucien whenever you wish."

Awkward enough as it was considering the ghostly apparition happened to be standing across the room, arms folded and stare burrowing into her it only got even more so when he shifted, eyes narrowing as he hissed. "I am not a mutt you can pass around to play fetch when it suits your fancy." His face said it all. He was not pleased and in truth neither was she.

He terrified her, always had. That memory of him breaking into her home was all too clear and ever-present. It made her cringe but the sudden smile on his face told her he was aware of her thought process and not only that but he was also pleased with her fear.

"Calm yourself, Lucien." Astrid scolded while striding across the room towards the underling assassin who's vigilantly trained eyes watched the dead man across the room. "I'm afraid I have no more contracts at the moment. Consider getting some rest and talking with Nazir for some busy work."

Rosalind nodded and backed out of the room, back towards the center. Those obsidian depths locked with her silvery blue till she finally turned away and made for the forge where Arnbjorn was plunging a piping hot sliver of steel into a water bucket. It cooled with a searing hiss and as she approached his voice raised a little above normal to be evident over the ruckus. "Hey there, Tidbit. Looking a little rattled for an assassin aren't you?"

She sidled up and watched intently as he began to shape a steel dagger. The heat radiating from the forge warmed her skin pleasantly and the proximity of a fellow werewolf soothed her fretted nerves some. "I'm not rattled so much as… surprised." She clarified, crossing her arms defensively. From _him_ or the heat she wasn't sure.

Arnbjorn had become like Kodlak in the manner of short time they'd shared residence. Her superior, mentor, and almost fatherly figure that she ran to when she craved security or pranced around behind when Astrid asked him to hunt something for dinner. Unfortunately the white haired wolf didn't feel the same sentiments, but was willing to put up with her 'pup like' behavior as he called it.

By no means was it encouraged but strength in numbers was a mindset of the pack, a mindset that carved out a space for itself the instant the beast blood took affect. And if truth be told he didn't mind the company as much as he liked to pretend otherwise, besides having a pup to look after made him feel a bit more important than Astrid allowed.

His beast blood, the wolf spirit, called out quelled her own. As a superior if he wasn't anxious then the wolf spirit inside her hardly saw reason to be either. It was like an instant calming sensation like slowly sinking into a warm bath, completely submersed in comfort. The worries of the world just faded away leaving behind a tranquil serenity.

"Surprised?" He seemed intrigued as he laid the metal on the workbench. Rose guessed Arnbjorn had lived long enough and seen enough to never be surprised about anything. Leather strips began tangling around the hilt to serve as a grip. His eyes were focused intently on his work, taking great pride in his smithing abilities.

"You're aware Astrid keeps company with a ghost aren't you?" Her brow crinkled with wonder and distain.

"Oh, Lucien." His natural accent seemed less rough as his lips twitched in an emotional tug of war. "Of course I am. Why should this bother you?"

Rose frowned at his amusement of her uncertainty. "I don't know." Shrugging she walked over and picked up an ebony ingot, running her fingers over the smooth surface as she growled deeply. "Its, unnatural."

Arnbjorn, the one and only, who hated her favorite color and her for so long, who was always moody with anger and wolf his only friends, chuckled softly. "Hmm, I suppose its how you look at it." He continued, his fingers tying off the leather perfectly. He laid the blade on the workbench then squared up before her all serious once more, taking away the ingot to leave her hands empty with no means of distraction. He wanted her full on attention as he explained reasoning. "See Astrid needs him to help with finding contracts. As a ghost he's not exactly bound by town rules and doors."

Her blue eyes wavered and then glanced into his which instantly gave him a headache. Did he mention how much he hates blue? "So convenience?"

"Exactly." He praised, or the only thing that came close considering who the other converser was. "Why don't you go climb into a bed for a few hours Tidbit? You're starting to get that 'someone punched me in both eyes' look."

Rose fingered the area beneath her left eye, tracing the velvet flesh of her sensitive under eye that always got that coal pigment from sleep deprivation. "I suppose." Hesitance lingered in her voice and it wasn't a guess for him what bothered her so much.

"You're still new. Trust me, sleep gets easier the longer you have the blood." Arnbjorn turned his back on her then to signal the end of the conversation. His old wolf wisdom settling in the air between them. He was headed towards the grindstone with his newest creation as she made way towards the bunks upstairs.

Babette was grinding ingredients for a potion, a wicked fanged smile on her youthful face as she bid her goodnight in that deceptive childlike tone. Slinking up the wooden incline she picked a bed and sank into it, curling beneath the covers as footsteps sounded on the path just traversed.

When she finally woke up she nearly smacked her face into the nightstand from jumping out of the bed in such haste, unfortunately her foot caught the furs and tripped her at the last moment. Lucien's foreboding chuckle filled her ears and as quick as it came it was gone. Mild amusement and disappointment was all he expressed as he sat perched at the foot of the bed. It had been so different when she couldn't see him.

"Why are you here?" Wide-eyed and frantic she probably sounded desperate as she became a crab and scuttled backwards. She hit the wall and used it as leverage to make it to her feet as she eyed her dagger still resting on the nightstand. His obsidian eyes followed hers and he regarded the object of her attention with scornful disinterest.

The ghost's form responded by lying back on its elbows looking as composed and relaxed as ever. A sinister smile graced his face and his voice, though still deep and mysterious, contained a hint of forced polite friendliness. "You possess my summoning dear child," He informed in that sweet peaceful tone that made him seem like he had been a decent guy at some point, "therefore I will follow."

"And all the times before?" Her question hung shaky in the air and she watched as his eyes drifted shut as though in slumber.

"Simply encouraging you, child of Sithis." Calm and comfortable she almost considered throwing the blanket at him, almost. He cracked an eye when she shuffled.

She scowled in annoyance, grabbing her steel dagger and ran from the room yelling over her shoulder, "Just go away." Lucien's laughter haunted her as she ran towards the black door, stopping when she saw Astrid leaning on the wall looking paranoid and unsettled and… waiting for her.

"Ah, good you're awake." She spoke the instant she saw her, stopping her dead in her tracks and preventing escape, not bothering to care about her startled appearance. "I have a special task for you. A, _problem_, of sorts has arisen."

Rose glanced around half expecting Lucien to be standing right beside her as she caught her breath; she continued searching for anyone or anything that may decide to show up randomly at any given moment. "Problem?"

The blond nodded subtly, eyes narrowed at the lack of eye contact. "Yes, it's Cicero. The fool has taken to locking himself up in the Night Mother's crypt and… talking, to someone." Her eyes crinkled more as she trailed off. "I need you to eavesdrop on their conversation and report back anything suspicious."

Rose, skeptical of the situation considering Cicero's unique state of mind, arched an eyebrow in confusion. The man was insane, talked to himself, and to the Night Mother. As long as he wasn't trying to slaughter her in her sleep, unlike Lucien, she wasn't too concerned. "Like what?"

Astrid huffed, "Any plots or plans that will affect The Brotherhood, but you must hurry. Find a place to hide and wait there until Cicero returns. Don't even bother keeping to the shadows though, you'll be found within an instant."

She crossed her arms over her shrouded robes. Silence stretched for a moment as she pondered her options, drawing up a blank. She had never technically been in Cicero's room before. "Then where do you suggest."

Astrid's smile made her instantly uneasy and she recoiled knowing she wasn't going to like what the other woman had to suggest. "Something brilliant, someplace they'd never think to look. Like, inside the Night Mother's coffin."

Blinking in disbelief she was shocked into staring after her like an idiot. "Umm… Doesn't that seem disrespectful?"

Astrid laughed at such wasted formality. The old ways were dead after all, tenets abandoned, nothing to possibly worry about. "Never mind that. It's the perfect place, besides it's for the good of the family." She reasoned insistently and watched the younger assassin carefully for signs of disinclination.

Hesitantly she signed, defeated. "I guess."

Astrid smirked obviously pleased with the subordination. "Then it's settled. You best hurry."

She left quickly her mind rambling about how she could possibly have agreed to such a thing. Stand in a coffin with a decomposing corpse that just so happened to be what her 'family' worshipped. Not only did it seem utterly disrespectful it kind of grossed her out at the same time.

Her nose crinkled at the thought of just how terrible it would smell in there and as she made her way to the top of the stairs and stood before the coffin she fished for a lockpick. The cold steel touched her fingers as she fidgeted it into the hole and with a clink the door swung open.

Standing before the stained glass window she took in the Night Mother in her unholy glory. Her skin decayed and rotten a sickly grey tinted green, her jaw broken and hanging open, arms crossed over her chest she was bound by thick coils of rope. A torn faded dress clinging to her shoulders and hanging over her emaciated corpse in rags. The smell of death and scented oil invaded her nose making her gag but the humming of Cicero's voice encouraged her movements.

Slipping into the coffin she hastily shut the door behind her. The little room had her body pressed into the corpse and in an effort to escape she turned her head sideways and squeezed her eyes shut, a little disgusted. It was one thing to go into a tomb and clear it of drauger it was a whole different story to be _literally_ sharing a resting place.

"Are we alone?" The shrill lilting voice of the jester seemed less hash one her ears now that they were separated by a layer of metal.

"Yes, alone sweet solitude." He cackled from the opposing end, stretching out words in that special way of his. A reassurance laced his words as his playful chuckling invaded the air. "I've spoken to the others, and they're coming around. What about you? Have you spoken to anyone?"

The inquiry lingered and Rose cracked an eye in the darkness. Pointless considering all that she could see was endless black and the outline of the dead Dunmer. She waited for the accomplice to speak but all that greeted her was Cicero's enraged screaming.

"Oh course not! I do all the speaking, and the sneaking! What do you do? Nothing!" His tirade left her shaken, scrunching back into the Night Mother like a lost child. The fool would yell all the time while singing his morbid little ditties or telling a joke but he never once screamed in outrage. Rosalind had concluded that his jester role didn't permit any bad emotions. Just joyous jaunty behavior and a Cheshire cat grin despite the insults.

"Not that I'm angry," Reeling in his anger he began to sound more like the Keeper who made witty remarks around the sanctuary or singing songs at the dinner table, remembering his position and resect he held for the terrible matron. "Never angry. Cicero understands. Cicero always… understands."

Suddenly sounding distraught, his apology rained over the Night Mother's dead ears and her still living ones. A twinge or remorseful compassion gathered, making her frown. She felt genuinely bad for the Imperial and even more so with the thought she was witnessing a moment of weakness that wasn't hers to witness.

"I'm sorry sweet mother." He whined, "but I just can't find the listener. How can I help if you won't speak, to anyone."

She could hear Cicero's melancholy ramblings from behind the stone, but there was no one else in the room speaking with him. He was muttering nonsense to the Night Mother's coffin. There was no betrayal just as she had figured in the first place. Her teeth gritted at the thought of Astrid's paranoia and just what would happen if Cicero happened to find her in here, violating the sanctity of the Night Mother's coffin and his privacy when a voice not her own entered her mind.

"Oh, but I will speak. I will speak to you." Female and drawn-out it sounded more like breathy words than an actual voice. The inside of the coffin engulfed itself in a red light that emanated from the Night Mother herself as she continued to speak. "You are the one. You are the Listener."

Time seemed at a standstill, everything was quite save for the voice whispering in her mind. She felt weightless, unhindered, and warm, like being cradled in the Mother's embrace. "You who share my tomb and warm my ancient bones. Tell Cicero the time has come. Tell him the words he has been longing to hear."

It was only when the door slide open and the cool air settled onto her flesh, the weight settling back into her aching limbs as she stumbled backwards, did she hear Cicero's screeching. His enraged face glaring deathly at her from below, cheeks burning a shade of heated red that rivaled his hair. "Defiler, debaser and defiler! Explain yourself!"

Rosalind blinked at the jester the words flowing from within her as natural as breathing. "Darkness rises when silence dies."

His demeanor changed drastically. His joyous dancing came as he prattled on about The Listener and how sweet mother had said those words special for him. Just him and only him. "You are the Listener, you are the Listener!" he danced about when the door swung open, smashing noisily into the wall.

"What's going on? Back away you fool!" Astrid had burst through the door, sword drawn and pointed at the Keeper, demanding answers as usual.

"The Night Mother has spoken! Spoken to her!" He cheered, gesturing wildly and sniggering smugly at the blonde woman as she sheathed her weapon, staring mutely unbelieving at the both of them. "She is the Listener!"

In the following moments Astrid had been sorely disappointed her conspiracy theory was tossed out the window by her own spy. Cicero's consistent ramblings about the Listener were confirmed only by her to which Astrid appeared displeased, especially when the orders of the Night Mother's contract came up. "Don't forget I am still the leader of this sanctuary. I need time to think."

Astrid left the beaming madman behind, ignoring him as he made a comment of how The Listener was the leader. Rose watched the woman walk away and as Cicero stood in the center of the room, hand to his chin and deep in thought, she began to inch away from the coffin.

Turning to make way for the door she stopped as though struck by lightning in her spot. Leaning on the door frame was Lucien scowling disapproving menace in her direction.

Tenet one, broken.

* * *

**Author's Note**: So the first one is done. There will definitely be more of Lucien in the following 4 chapters. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!

Thank you to anyone who took the time to review of throw this on their fav or watch list.


	3. Tenet 2

**Title: **5 Tenets

**By: **CypressArtemis

**Summary: **There are certain codes one must follow when inducted into the brotherhood. Traditions long since forsaken with the death of the previous listener, yet the Dovahkiin has still managed to break them all anyway. Hinted, Lucien x Dovahkiin. Spoilers.

* * *

Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis.

There was a gathering in the lower level dining hall. Various chairs rapidly growing occupied by early comers surrounded the large table, spacious and lengthy, it served its purpose nicely for such an extensive family. Dinner time was the only time that the silent assassins gathered to abandon their own seclusion in order to sit together and exchange pleasantries in the form of stories, jokes, and upcoming contracts in a similar manner as 'normal' families discuss their daily routines.

Though fighting, occasionally, wasn't unorthodox either and increasingly persistent with the spike of available contracts. Contrary to popular beliefs about their organization and the loving respectful relationship between dark brothers and sisters, like any normal family the Dark Brotherhood wasn't above vocal discord every now and again. The real trick was keeping it a verbal debate without allowing it to escalate to full on physical violence.

Without actual rules to govern behavior it was exclusively Astrid's duty to safeguard the assassins from eliminating one another in fits of manic hysteria. A little detail that was conveniently mentioned with scolding levity whenever a fight did manage to break out, "If we adhered to the Tenets, this sort of disgraceful lunacy wouldn't happen." Lachance's deep enchanting voice echoed in her ears, set on record like being stuck by a tone-deaf cacophony bard in a tavern, too intoxicated to realize they were playing the same horrid song continuously.

A new contract always led to an uproar in the dining hall and tonight was no exception. Over the years contracts became few and far between leaving each individual assassin with a burning craving, an unwavering desire for the opportunity to carve out The Brotherhood's reputation with their own personal grotesque signature, one which was sure to leave guards shaken and paranoid for weeks onward, constantly glancing over their shoulders, twitching at the things that go bump in the night. Naturally the diminishing need for their profession caused a great frustration amongst the professional murders till there was no guarantee they were even safe from one another.

Yet something had finally pooled in over the course of the week that Astrid had sent a certain spirit jostling back and forth from town to town until by a stroke of luck, or pity from the Dread Father, he had caught wind of a certain man running his mouth about wanting some Argonian salvager taken care of. Not much of a kill in itself but reputation tarnished and pretty much nonexistent the organization was in no position to be picky.

"Well I think I should be the one to go. After all, my skill is perfect for such things." Festus's usual crabby mood seemed to have gave way to a more prideful and anxious one. The prospect of a kill incentive enough to make him almost cheery as his aged voice cracked.

"You?" Veezara glanced at the old man, taking in his wrinkled skin, hindered eyes, and sluggish movements. He didn't want to be the one to say he was getting too on in years and should take serious consideration to setting up in a hold to wait out his remaining lifespan, but it was no secret the man wasn't what he used to be, even to himself. Not to mention his spells were hardly adequate against the tough leathery scaled skin of his brethren that complimented their Histskin ability so well. "Please, if anyone should have this contract it should be me. As a fellow Argonian I know full well the capabilities and possess them myself."

His reasoning lingered for a moment, yellow reptilian eyes blinking as Festus's 'good mood' wavered into that of a grouchy deprived child. "Besides, trying to avoid death in the water will do him little good against me."

Festus humphed and crossed his arms in self defense. "It's not like I don't know a spell for that as well." He informed, glaring at his Argonian brother. "It's called Water Breathing and is categorized under Alteration magic, you self-righteous lizard."

"Veezara does make an admirable argument," Babette chimed in, taking a seat at the table, not so much to partake in the actual dinner itself but merely for the socialization such an event provided. A silky smile touched her lips and the tips of her fangs peeked out as she spoke. Her red eyes lit with replenished energy and unhindered amusement as she pushed a tankard from in front of her out of the way.

The green scaled assassin made the closest facial expression akin to a frown that was possible for his kind. Not being a part of the human races it was difficult to rely any, if at all, on facial expression to convey displeasure, but his eyes narrowed to give a dangerous threatening kind of gesture. The gleaming yellow and triangular pupils already animalistic by birth appeared that much more feral as a dark throaty hiss escaped between his teeth. "I was only trying to save you the trouble, grouchy old fool."

"Settle down brothers," the Redguard hunched over the pot simmering above the open fire. A large wooden spoon dunked into the mixture as he stirred it yet again for good measure, making sure all the vegetables were distributed equally and flavors blended evenly. He wasn't much for arguing over murders these days, much to mature at this point for such nonsense predictable for a showy novice. He had full faith that Astrid would choose the best for the job, but he knew a physical confrontation brewing when he saw one and it would only mean trouble. "There will be plenty of killings to go around."

He tapped the spoon on the side of the pot with a clang, turning back towards the table he picked up a few bowls and regarded the lizard who sipped from a mug of ale, scaled lips curved around the brim in a way that showed reluctance to engage farther in fight than actual thirst. "Tell me brother, would killing a fellow Argonian make your scales crawl?"

Veezara glared, now feeling quite insulted for a number of reasons but the most prominent that the damned old man was now chuckling heartily at his expense. Ancient voice cackling and raspy, a fowl with a punctured lung arrow blossoming from a chest of black and red. "Hardly," he seethed placing the mug upon the table with unnecessary force as he stood and moved to the other side, taking residence away from them lest he forget himself and unsheathe his blade.

"Running away brother? How unbecoming." Nazir jostled, unrelenting as Festus relaxed in his seat with good humor. Nazir turned away picking up a ladle from a small cooking table as Veezara's scaled hand gripped the hilt of his blade, his long spiked and scabrous tail twitching, preparing itself as a counterweight for a sudden surprise attack.

The Redguard had a nasty habit of never allowing an opportunity to insult his fellow family members slip away.

A low throaty buzz of displeasure rumbled the Shadowscale's chest. How easy it would be to leap across the obstacle of a table and slice the man while his back was turned. He scoffed disgusted and ashamed at such a foolish maneuver. "Don't mistake my relocation for retreat, Redguard."

"Now, now, boys. Behave yourselves," Astrid's chiding pervaded the air and Veezara released his dagger out of complete respect for her wishes. She waltzed in, head held high and confident as Arnbjorn took the liberty of showing off his love by pulling her chair out for her, which she readily accepted but with hardly a smile of appreciation. More like a look of entitlement a prestigious royal bears in the company of commoners or servitude as she slid into her chair smoothly. Her husband taking a place beside her as the soft almost nonexistent footfalls of Lucien Lachance circled around them both to sit someplace in between Festus and the werewolf.

It was officially supper time when the dark elf strode into the room and while the terms and conditions were kicked around the table Nazir dished out bowls of stew from the pot hanging listlessly over the crackling fire. An inevitable uprising argument over which member was more fitting for the job permeated the air once more, more palpable then the savory spices and broth the Redguard ladled out and passed down rows of chairs. Astrid, of course, sat at the head of the table like a smug Queen, or Jarl, with bitter amusement directed at the sulking ghost glinting in her mud colored eyes.

The excitement rattling the room didn't faze the spectral assassin, however, who happened to be sitting at the table nonchalantly for reasons he still wasn't sure of. He didn't come for the food and the company was even less tasteful. His arms crossed over his chest as he slumped back into the chair watching Festus reach over him to give Arnbjorn his dinner since Lucien blatantly refused to partake in the good mannered activities that came with dinner time. Maybe if he was alive, or at the very least treated with the respect deserving of his station, he may have found it in him to relieve the old man of the dish and pass it along for him.

His inky eyes foreboding with annoyance as Astrid smiled smugly, taking pleasure in the petty tasks she shackled him with, tedious and undeserving of a former Speaker. Since their newest member preferred not to use his summoning contract and was content to let him linger in the Void, just as he preferred, Astrid had taken it upon herself to summon him for her own selfish needs and irrelevant tasks. If Rosalind wasn't going to put him to good use Astrid saw no reason not to benefit from the situation.

Speaking of the Listener she wandered down for what had become her designated bed, walking down the incline of a wooden walkway. Her hand covering her mouth as she yawned with sleep in her eyes and her black hair messed up, pieces sticking up out of place at odd angles. Her shrouded robes disheveled as she just rolled out of bed, literally, and sank into a chair across from the summoned specter who had taken the liberty of watching her with eyes an eagle would envy.

Growing discomfort made the newfound Listener shift in her chair as though that would alleviate the tension. The old wood creaked during her fidgeting but went unnoticed as she picked up a spoon lying discarded to the right. Her silvery blue eyes stared at the steam rising off the bowl that found a place in front of her and she began to stab at a chunk of potato, taking note with a forlorn frown that there wasn't the odor of beef residing in the broth.

A certain jester bounded into the room, fashionably late and prancing around the table in an odd combination of a skip and what might be considered a variation of the two-step. The bells of his jester hat jingled gaily as he plucked an unoccupied chair from the floor and hopped around the table with it, a silly impish grin on his face.

She more listened to the jingling to determine where he was in the room, not wanting to look up and catch the eye of her ghostly mentor whose gaze still had a way of making her skin crawl.

"Listener! Dear Listener, how are you today?" The crazed man placed his chair beside hers practically shoving Veezara out of the way with such persistence to accommodate the space that he nearly dumped the poor Argonian out of his own seat. "Has mother spoken to you again?"

"Watch what you're doing blundering fool!" Veezara hissed, his chair legs screeching across the floor as he moved down to give the jester room.

"Oh," Cicero turned, amber eyes widening as his hands gestured wildly. "Sorry dear brother, Cicero didn't even see you there." He chuckled in his shrill high pitched voice, one hand covering his eyes as the other reached out to feel around for the lizard. Cicero looked like a blind man waving about in search of hidden obstacles and a big grin decorated his face, "see? ... Oh wait. I can't!"

Veezara was not impressed with the Imperial's foolishness and smacked his prying hand away just before it touched the black and red leather of his armored chest, "Just be careful, jester."

"Oh course brother, of course." Cicero turned away and back towards the dark haired Nord at his side, still grinning like a madman with expectation. His amber eyes watching her mutilate her food in reluctance to consume it.

Since becoming the esteemed Listener, Cicero was increasingly difficult to avoid and exceptionally insistent that they spend any and all spare time she had together, at least when she was in the sanctuary and not running off to do other chores. Creepy, yes, but sweet in its own way she supposed. He may be completely out of his head but once you get used to him he really wasn't all that bad and his morbid little ditties were starting to grow on her.

Her eyes flicked to his ever grinning face his amber gaze was speckled with proof of his insanity as well as admiration and loyalty that not even Astrid could claim to have seen. That look was reserved for only two individuals, the Night Mother and her esteemed Listener.

She shook her head slightly, his eyes fell but his smile broadened as he leaned in to what would have been a very uncomfortable proximity a week ago, but Rosalind had become quite used to his antics. "Don't worry Listener. Mother will speak again soon, I'm sure of it." He insisted, his grin spreading to display a nice amount of white teeth, as though hearing voices in her head was something she considered a comfort.

Rose blinked for a moment, baffled and unsure how to respond, before quirking her lips in a forced half smile that made Cicero exuberant and excited all at once. "I'm sure."

Lucien's brows narrowed watching the exchange and his outrage grew when said jester dipped his spoon into Rosalind's soup and proceeded to polish off half the bowl before Nazir got a chance to pass down one of his own to him.

Astrid watched astonished with an eyebrow arched at just how friendly the crazed man was being, or rude, she wasn't quite sure what such an action could be considered. Surely in Cicero's mind there was nothing wrong with just eating from someone else's plate without asking but Astrid may have considered that extremely disrespectful.

Rosalind on the other hand scoffed humorously and shoved the dish over to him for keeps. She wasn't really interested in hot broth to begin with and Cicero seemed to notice this the moment he danced into the room. Insane or not the man was very intuitive when it came to the things he obsessed over. It must have come from his constant observation and attention to detail. If something was out of place in his room he knew, if something wasn't quite right with the oils he used to preserve the Night Mother he was damn well aware, and if the Listener wasn't happy about something he sure as shit was certain about just what it was.

She genuinely smiled at him as he practically inhaled both dishes like a starving dog on the street digging through heaps of trash. He had basically given her an out without having to tell Nazir she didn't want what he made for supper. The man already wasn't exactly her best friend and although she doubted it would hurt his feelings any, it just seemed ungrateful after all the trouble he went through to prepare a meal.

When she accepted Aela as her forebear she wasn't told beforehand that her tastes were going to change so drastically. Most things that didn't have meat anymore made her nose crinkle with distaste and watered down soggy vegetables definitely weren't making her mouth salivate in anticipation.

Arnbjorn was busy scooping broth into a spoon and turning it over to watch the waterfall affect as it splashed back amongst the rest of it. After a few repetitive motions he dropped the spoon into the bowl with a noisy clink of glass and jolted from the table. "I'm going out. Feel like joining me Tidbit?"

His offer may have been made out of pity and mild understanding but the prospect of some actual food made her stand with great haste and trail after him like a puppy. Had she transformed she was shamefully positive her tail would be wagging uncontrollably as they walked out leaving the rest of them to continue their debate.

Lucien removed himself from the table, moving upwards where all the beds resided and slumped down onto his summoner's favorite one. If she was going to act like a child by ignoring him for weeks on end, not to mention at the dinner table, there was no way she could pull the same juvenile behavior when she came back. He was certain to make sure of it.

It was safe to say he had come to dislike her.

No, in fact, Lucien hadn't liked her from the start.

When he was alive he had viewed all of those Sithis and the Night Mother looked upon favorably as his dark brothers and sister. Loved and respected them all in his own unique way, but this girl was just too… innocent.

Pure.

Clean.

Terrified of him from the start she had tensed up like a frightened rabbit in his prescience, not that being feared again didn't feel exhilarating, it was not an admirable quality for a member of The Dark Brotherhood and certainly not for the Listener. The most esteemed position within their sacred family and it was just handed over to some ignorant child with a little bit of Dragon and Daedra blood. It didn't make her the best of the family just because Sithis's creations were taking to calling her Champion for doing a few demeaning errands.

If Lucien were still holding his high rank of Speaker and were sent to recruit her he would have initially thought it an ill conserved joke from Ungolim to both, waste his time and test his patience. Had he not been there personally to witness her deathcraft firsthand he would swear that someone else had committed her murders and fulfilled her contracts in her behalf. Still, even in the midst of killing she preferred to keep her distance from the targets, using a bow rather than a blade. The old hag at the orphanage was the only exception and Lucien was positive by this point it was only the extreme distaste that brought out the darkest desire to _really_ hurt the woman. Even when offered bonuses the girl only chose to accept those that she had taken to sympathizing with unlike him who enjoyed wholeheartedly the thrill of excess challenges.

He had to respect her though. Her position outranked all others but he still couldn't understand why the Night Mother had chosen her. Innocent was not a word he tossed around lightly because if 200+ years have taught him anything it's that no one is truly innocent, but before she had met the little Imperial boy she was not a murderer. If it weren't for his presence encouraging her to initiate the act she probably wouldn't be now either, and that would mean the Brotherhood would not have a Listener and Astrid would be left to continue her dictatorship unopposed.

Astrid… yes, the only dark sister he wouldn't mind seeing sent to the Void personally.

Lucien leaned back onto the pillows noting her smell, despite rarely succumbing to sleep and running off a majority of the time, had burrowed into them at this point. It smelled much like a pungent cross of milk and honey with a combined aroma of some exotic flower. It was different though not at all unpleasant in its sweet subtlety. He noticed the book lingering on the table beside the bed and plucked it from its resting place as he settled more comfortably into the fur blankets.

May as well keep himself occupied as he waited.

Rosalind and Arnbjorn returned to the Sanctuary after a quick meal at Falkreath inn. They had a minor disagreement about just hunting some deer in the nearby forest, something she was surprised her superior had dismissed readily. If there was anything she could claim that he actually enjoyed it was the rush of the blood and the numbing consciousness to the wolf spirit set free, and if she were in the mood to be perfectly honest she was slightly looking forward to the transformation. It had been so very long since becoming the wolf and she liked to run and nip playfully at her fellow pack members, something only Farkas and Aela seemed to have a tolerance of indulging, especially kindhearted Farkas.

But Arnbjorn wanted mead and so to the inn they went, ordering enough food to feed the Brotherhood for a week.

She walked past Veezara who sat on the dirt floor and found herself wondering if he was meditating considering he was often sitting there, calm and relaxed for long periods of time.

He glanced up accosting her before she could get any farther inward. "Sister, Astrid has made clear the contract is yours. See Nazir for the details."

She frowned now feeling a bit annoyed, "Why me?" It was such a simple assignment and as far as she could tell Astrid was loading all the work on her shoulders, disregarding the rest of the members. Part of her had a feeling Astrid just liked to keep her busy and away from the sanctuary as much as possible.

"Hmm, well I believe it is her intention to insure you have adequate practice." Veezara appeared thoughtful and that was her cue to insinuate that in all actuality he really had no idea. Astrid didn't give away much about her plans or reasoning behind decisions and no one dared question her. "It is important to know what one is doing before being sent on high risk contracts."

"Yes, I suppose." She trailed off suspiciously, head cocking back towards the entrance. No telling she was most definitely in bed by now so there was no point in looking for her, not that there really was any other time. "Thank you, Veezara."

The lizard nodded, "Of course, sister."

Rosalind left him to his endeavors, slinking upwards towards her quarters. She wasn't even remotely tired but she simply wanted to relax and continue reading her book. It wasn't like there was much else to do in the sanctuary anyway and it was already eerily quiet now that many of the family members were sleeping for the night.

A little down time before she left back for Riften would do wonders.

Her ears could pick up the sound of their breathing, slow, steady, and blissful. Climbing the incline with calculated steps so as to not wake anyone she stopped at the top when the ghostly blue phantom came into view and of course he had chosen to take residence on _her_ bed.

He was staring at her, waiting and expectant, like he was her husband and she had been missing for the entire night, leaving no sign or trace of where she had gone. "My Listener."

"What do you want?" She walked around the bed, circling it cautiously as one would a pressure plate in the depths of an ancient dungeon. She had half a mind to grab her things and move elsewhere, but there was a principal of the matter. If she tucked tail and ran now that would give the ghost incentive that he could take whatever he wanted and that certainly wasn't happening. Her Nord and Dragon blood were both prideful and forbade retreat while the wolf spirit snarled at this disrespect of invading her personal space. Lucien's mouth quirked at the turmoil, noticing the telltale signs of a conflicted mind, and she narrowed her eyes. It seemed her every action was somehow amusing to him in some way.

"I've been thinking," he sat up tucking his right leg so that it was bent and lying on its side, his left knee draped over his foot and dangling over the edge of the bed as though making space for her to sit down.

"About?" She inquired curiously, opting to stand despite the accommodation of space.

His smile widened with hopeful excitement, "perhaps we should find a random stranger to murder. Practice does make perfect." It had been far too long since he sent a soul to the Void. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers prickling with the overwhelming urge to sink his blade into someone's unguarded throat. Feel the warm spray of blood coat his hands and face as it ran down the steel blade, staining it with the life-force of an innocent. Not to mention he had a lingering desire to see just what made his new protégée tick and fill her with the murderous urge he had witnessed in Riften. He had somewhere along the line decided it was his personal duty to see to the fact she become remorseless, true leadership material for the dwindling family.

"No."

It was that one little word that made him want to leap from the bed and shove her roughly against the wall, slam his hands down to box her in as he loomed over her shorter form. Intimidating and threatening, scaring her into submission to do whatever he wanted because he knew in her constant paranoid and anxious condition when around him his preferable method of sweet talking and charming her weren't plausible.

Speech-craft had once been his most valuable asset, capable of charming any woman he wanted into his bed and loosening the tongue of even the hardest closemouthed royalty out of confidential information. It had taken only a few years in his youth to learn how to pick just the right words and use just the right tone, a silver tongue to bend and shape the masses as he wished.

After being stuck in the Void for a number of days and at Astrid's beck and call he was restless and so very pent up with anger he nearly snarled at her rejection. It wasn't like she was offering any suggestions of things they could do together and he was in dire need of alleviating the ever-present wrath, after all it was her that was meant to summon him most assuredly not Astrid.

"I grow restless," he denounced and the baritone silk of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. He was very displeased with her answer and his lips twisted in a self restrained sneer. His eyes, though pits of black obsidian, still held a wild and predatory glint to them. A natural predator bound to a cage for much too long, reminding her of one of those dancing bears the gypsy people exploited for coin.

Something about his current mood made her move to distance herself from him. Her knees bending slightly as she turned her side towards him, avoiding eye contact. All gestures that he didn't fully understand but noticed that it made her appear much smaller than she actually was. "Go back to the Void then." She suggested as she made a slow move to a nearby chest, pushing the lid up to rifle through in search of something.

"Why? To be called back by Astrid?" Distain coated his deep voice at the mere suggestion. "No."

She dared to glance at him from the side. He was practically seething with repressed aggravation and realization hit her hard. "You don't like Astrid." It wasn't a question and she straitened from the floor, abandoning the task at hand when she noticed her book was lying beside him on the bed. There was no telling where this conversation would go and with him already so irate and at his breaking point she wasn't sure she liked the idea.

"No." His flat statement was a growl of disapproval.

Curiosity pricked her mind, the melodic sound of her voice softening in an attempt to calm him. "Why?"

Lucien's form slumped back against the wall and he actually seemed to be relaxing. The tenseness in his limbs easing away and his facial structure took on a much less threatening appearance. In actuality he seemed relatively… please. "In life I was a Speaker for the Black Hand. Astrid holds discontent for all things sacred to me."

Arched eyebrows scrunched together and her body moved forward on its own accord. As she moved closer his black eyes watched her movements with hawk like precision. Even in death he still held the eyes of a glorified assassin and he tracked her in every shift of her lith form. "What is a Speaker?"

A smirk curved his lips upwards, a tight-lipped gesture of approval as he sat forward. His hand reached out and patted the lower half of the bed in a way that came off as just slightly seductive. "Sit down, dear child, and I shall tell you. It is about time we had a conversation, you and I."

* * *

Rosalind had returned to Riften by mid afternoon a few days after abandoning Lucien at the Sanctuary. After their talk she had gathered her things together to take care of a little business. When Lachance says he wants to have a talk what it really means is 'I want to insult you for a short while' apparently.

Sure he had answered a few of her questions about what the Dark Brotherhood was meant to be and the hierarchy of long ago but the discussion consisted mainly of him insisting that she was naïve and stupidly kindhearted in a way that was going to get her killed.

"_You shouldn't put too much trust in anyone." He warned her after she mentioned her plans of going back to Riften when the sun came out. Better to travel when she could see then at night where any manner of creature or enemy could take advantage of the darkness. _

_An eyebrow arched at the none-too-subtle bite in his voice and it certainly wasn't much of a guess as to who he was directing his attention towards. _

"_By anyone you mean Astrid," she pointed out, growing annoyed with his insistent disrespect. Sure she wasn't too fond of the woman herself but she was the leader and for a man that was so passionate about upholding laws and respecting higher-ups he was being quite the hypocrite. _

"_Especially Astrid." His soulless eyes narrowed watching her lean back. _

_Her fingers were tangled in the blankets, swirling in the fur as a means of something to do rather than a nervous tick while she regarded him with a strange sort of disapproval. "And why not?" _

"_Have you heard the tale of Mathieu Bellamont and the great treachery of Cheydinhal?" The word treachery rolled off his tongue, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The memory was shockingly coherent in his mind, even after so many years. He would swear he could still feal the slashes of steel ripping his flesh apart, carving his body into a useless husk of bone, skin, tendons, and organs. _

"_No and I don't care to." The hesitance in that melodic voice of hers did not go unnoticed to his trained ears. She was not as stupid as he had insinuated and he saw the little sparks in her beautifully unique eyes as she began to put things together like the pieces of a puzzle. "Are you trying to insinuate something?"_

_His mind hummed in intrigue. What a silly question. "I insinuate nothing." _

"_Then what are you saying?" She inquired seeking a straight answer as her stare lingered on his face as though if she looked long enough the answer would magically appear._

_Sadly for her she did not know him well enough. He was not the type of man that could be read. Mysterious and shrouded in shadow he knew how to hide things, lie, and slip past even the best defense unnoticed. He boasted the ultimate poker face in any scenario to the point even his comrades from so long ago could not trust him at his words that he was not responsible for the death of their family members."If you cannot see, then it is not my place to divulge."_

"_See what?" _

_He released a sigh. He had given her a giant clue, hinted at the inevitable with a single sentence yet she refused to put it all together, to wake up and realize the truth. "Your naivety will be the blade that quickens you."_

_Rising from the bed in a bitter resentment she went to gather her things, hastily yanking weapons and potions from a chest and shoving them into a bag, hissing between clenched teeth. "I have things to do."_

"_Yes, with the thieves infesting the sewers." Speaking his displeasure with great underlying hostility he pushed himself off the bed, advancing towards her till she jolted backwards, abashed that his Listener was leaving the glory of the sanctuary to squabble in filth unbecoming of her. "Living beneath the feet of lowly beggars, respected and loved as much as skeevers."_

"_Shut up," she growled, her hand rising in a threatening gesture, preparing to strike out at him until a dark overcast in his eyes told her it may be hazardous to her health if she were to follow through. There was no telling how he would retaliate so she lowered her hand reluctantly. "I'm sick of your face."_

_Blind furry was building up to the point she felt she had no control of her mouth anymore. Weeks of being followed by his spirit, witnessing the death of Vorstag due to his interference, and his constant discontent towards her finally snapping. A brittle twig under the wheel of a wagon, the sane rational part of her gone and replaced with a wild ferocity. _

_Her insult was meant to hurt him emotionally but all it managed to do was piss him off beyond what he already was. Assassin or not he did contain feelings like anyone else but they were far from being close enough that anything should hold any meaning let alone bother him. She was merely an insubordinate back sassing novice with a power trip that needed corrected. _

"_Yours, my dear, is not exactly a treat either." Only Lucien Lachance could slip a formality into such a bland insult and still make it sound extremely offensive, but petty arguing aside he had something more important to accomplish and he grew stern in a matter of seconds, watching her face flush in embarrassed outrage. "You should avoid taking on the burdens of others as your own." _

"_People need help sometimes." She countered, mind racing as she thought of all the miscellaneous adjectives that she had accomplished for random people. They had seemed so desperate and some practically begged for her to retrieve some things because the guards claimed to be too busy with the war to help._

_Lucien reminded her of the guards, never considering anyone else but themselves until they were paid for it. Had he ever went out of his way to help anyone other than those who hired him to kill an undesirable? She would bet not and her anger burned brighter than a campfire during a starless night, "Not that you would know."_

_Lucien was upon her in a mere second, moving faster than any mortal possibly could nor a werewolf at full sprint. His ethereal hand tangled in the silk of her hair, clutching it tight between his fingers as he pulled back to make her look directly into the onyx gleam of his eyes. "Talking down to me is not something I appreciate."_

"_Why should I care?" She hissed, craning her neck uncomfortably to meet the demand he was placing on her scalp, the prickling sting making her eyes tear up. "You're dead."_

"_Yes, dead as you shall be if you don't head my words." He paused, eyes sweeping the petite frame of her body with scrutiny, sizing her up as his unoccupied hand moved to lay flat over her stomach. The shrouded robes were normally baggy on her, as with all members, but under the pressure of his hand pushing them against her skin he took note of just how skinny she actually was. It was marginally disturbing as he trailed that hand and grabbed onto her waist finding her hip fit, quite snuggly, in the grip of his palm. "How you are adequate to be in this sanctuary still astounds me. You are hardly the sort of material needed in this family."_

_Blue eyes blazed as she grabbed at him, surprised to find that instead of her fingers going right through his figure she could actually touch the ghostly apparition as though he were a solid living existence. She pried at his wrist trying to make him release her, clearly unhappy at being touched. How dare he put his hands on her and insinuate she was unworthy based on something as trivial as not meeting Nordic standards. It wasn't like her bones were sticking out against the paleness of her skin like some women and she certainly saw some much shorter then her. "What makes you think I even want to be here?" _

_His laugh invaded her ears at her futile attempts to flee and he yanked her closer. Panic seized her, heart pounding when she was pressed flush to the still bizarrely solid form of his body, his mouth twisted in a sinister wicked curve lowering to her ear. His breath was the cold proof of death as he whispered against the shell of her ear, "The door is that way."_

_And then she was free, stumbling backwards at the sudden loss of him holding her up. _

_He was standing several paces away from her, arms crossed and giving her that un-attentive blank stare he reserved special for Astrid. A look that said 'you aren't worth my time' and she swallowed, glancing around to memorize the interior of what was supposed to be home. Who knew when she would come back, if she decided to at all. _

"_Way ahead of you." Hoisting her bag from the ground she trailed to the exit leaving Lucien to listen as the black door slammed shut behind her. _

Now here she was, strolling through the streets of Riften, sun blazing down over the eastern plethora of forest infested country. The familiar guards swathed in purple traversing and protecting the streets from the likes of people similar to her.

"Can you believe, old woman gets butchered in her own orphanage?" The female soldier hanging by the wall nearest the temple of Mara asked, eyeing her suspiciously behind the helmet. "Did I see you coming out of there that night?"

Rosalind barely looked at her before strolling past, lips pulled tight into a line as she made way for the secret entrance to the Thieves Guild. She bypassed the memorial stones of the cemetary, taking note that the nightshade plants had grown to blossom new flowers since she had last picked them for Ingun. The whole scene just made her remember the sanctuary and mostly Lucien.

As far as she was aware the man hadn't followed after her. She was expecting him to calm down and show up at her side at some odd hour as he usually did, but it was the first time since she was in Windhelm that the specter hadn't made an appearance, particularly at night, and although it left a freeing feeling to course through her it also reminded her the only time they had ever talked he was not only an insulting jackass but a violent one at that.

In a rage she kicked a cluster of nightshade flowers, watching the purple petals break from the main mass and swirl down to litter the frozen ground of the cemetary. Some blew in the breeze to stick to the weathered grey tombstones, the engraved names and dates sticking out and making her wonder if Grelod was buried in here somewhere.

Snarling she gave the plants another kick for good measure before pacing to the hidden manhole.

_Fuck you, Lucien._

Standing before Mercer Frey was one of those things, like getting a tooth pulled, you don't want to do it but in the long scheme of things there was no other option. It had to be done and it was easiest to do so as soon as possible and just get it over with and much like a pulled tooth the sooner it was appeased the less of a sting it left in the aftermath.

The man was just a snide disrespectful embodiment of bad attitude with a constant sneer and a harsh commanding voice. He didn't tolerate anything that wasn't a direct order, didn't involve coin, or got in the way of a timely report.

"Did Gulum-Ei give up any information on our buyer?" He had been waiting for her and of course the minute she was in his sights it was right down to business. No "hello, good to see you" or some other such hogwash formality, just straight to the point and all business.

Rose stood before the desk that he was currently leaning over, looking stressed and impatient with several books and ledgers spread open across the surface. Pools of ink and quills strewn around papers and letters from buyers and blueprints for heist jobs added to the décor. Some larceny items and a few of her burglary trophies decorated the bookshelf behind him.

She cleared her throat, hoping to remember everything, and more importantly to get the names right considering it had been well over a week since she had been in Solitude. "He said Goldenglow was purchased by a woman named Karliah."

"No," he went still, drawing the word out with sheer disbelief. "It can't be. She's someone I hoped to never cross paths with again."

Frowning she recalled her conversation with the frightened Argonian. After begging, not only for his life but also to put in a good word for him with Mercer, he had said so many things but the most important that stuck out was something about a betrayal and a murder. "Gulum-Ei had said something about her being a murderer."

Mercer snarled, all teeth exposed like a rabid dog with an utterly loathing mask for a face. Eyes shaping into slits of disgust as he leaned farther over the table till they were both staring into the depths of each others gaze. "Karliah destroyed everything this guild stood for," he spit out, voice rising higher than normal in his rage. "She murdered my predecessor in cold blood and betrayed the guild. After we had discovered what she had done we spent months trying to find her, but she vanished."

Intrigued but confused she couldn't stop the question from making itself known. "Why would she return then?"

"Karliah and I were like partners. I went with her on every heist. We watched each others backs. I know her techniques, her skills. If she kills me there will be no one left that could possible stop her," he explained and it sounded plausible. It made perfect sense, but still there was just something that didn't seem to add up like something was missing or out of the ordinary. "If only we knew where she was."

Rosalind watched him, listened to everything he said as she took it all in. Her eyes roamed over his facial features for tell tale signs of lying or maybe even some form of sorrow at the loss of an old friend. Anything that would confirm or reject his theory but Mercer Frey was a vault without a key. "Gulum-Ei said she was going to 'Where the end began,'"

"There's only one place that could be. The place she murdered Gallus… a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum." He hesitated, finally straightening into a standing position. "We have to go out there before she disappears again."

"We?" Shock spread over her. Mercer never sent her on missions with anyone before and the last person she would expect to go with would be him, especially if what he said was true and she was trying to kill him.

"Yes, I'm going with you. Together we're going to kill her. Here's your payment for Solitude." He handed over a slice of paper, ink written in curved writing, instructions to be given to Tonilia in which to grant permission of exchange of a piece of armor. "Prepare yourself and meet me at the ruin as soon as possible. We can't allow her to slip through our fingers."

Shaking her head she paced off to the Flaggon, shoving the door open and scanning the room for the Redguard fence. She was sitting on a stack of boxes next to the cistern and as she approached the woman practically rolled her eyes.

Rose held out the paper which she snatched out of her hand, nearly tearing it in the process as her eyes swept over Mercer's handwriting. "Oh, so I'm supposed to let you trade in a piece of your guild armor. What will it be then?"

"Is there anything… different?"

She scoffed at her foolish question. "Of course," the woman spoke it as though it was most obvious and she may possibly be the dumbest Nord alive just for asking such a thing. "If there wasn't it wouldn't be much of a reward now would it?"

"Hmm," rolling her eyes and ignoring the urge to shove her off the boxes and into the extremely foul smelling cluster of water below. Maybe that would teacher her to be a little nicer considering she was the one taking on all the work and burden lately. "I want to trade my cuirass."

"Are you sure? Once I exchange it I'm _not_ taking it back."

"I'm sure," she confirmed waiting for the fence to bestow her reward to her and perhaps shut her snarky mouth in the process.

"Fine, here." She held out the brown leather that glowed with a faint green mist of an enchantment. The Redguard made a point to gesture to the old strip of leather armor that was currently clinging to her chest. "Change out of the old one and bring it to me before you leave."

"Ok." Walking off she hardly gave her another look as she waded through the tables and back towards the door she had just come from. It wouldn't do to strip down in front of the entire Flaggon considering a majority of the occupants were male, so she settled for stopping short of the door and doing so in the dark little nook beside the cabinet door.

Peeling the old musty leather from her upper body she tossed it onto the floor and began slipping the newer one on, lacing up the buckles until it clung protectively around her. Grabbing the old one she walked back out with it and dropped it on one of the tables as Tonilia watched her before walking away. Let the woman gather it on her own.

Making it to Snow Veil Sanctum was quite challenging. The trek through layers of icy snow piled feet off the ground was like wading through water, thick and strenuous. She made a mental note to purchase a horse as soon as she returned to Whiterun. The black mare for sale was absolutely gorgeous, strong sturdy legs, pitch coat, and shapely head and ears. A perfect specimen that would surely pay for itself in no time.

Aside from the hardship of the journey drudging to the end of the remote tomb proved an even greater burden. Draugr infested the halls and catacombs, awaken from their everlasting slumber like cockroaches, some of them even knowing how to use the Thu'um. Not to mention a very powerful Deathlord next to a word wall had been armed to the teeth, wilding a deadly sharp ebony sword.

Karliah, as Mercer promised after retelling the story of how she had murdered Gallus and dumped his remains in the lonely deserted ruins before hightailing it to gods know where, had proven to be quite efficient with setting and resetting the old tripwires designed to keep out looters. She had blundered into a couple and the bone chimes were the biggest nuisance her forefathers had ever conceived.

Towards the end of their journey through the dungeon the only thing that Rosalind could boast about was that she wasn't dead, due to some potions and an apprentice healing spell, had looted the ebony sword off the corpse of the now completely dead draugr, and had found a ship in a bottle that Delvin may be eagerly interested in. She had shot it off the pedestal and waited for the flames to die down before shoving it gently into her knapsack, a wide satisfied smile of her face as she turned to Mercer who was less than impressed and just rolled his eyes before scolding, "You make a lot of noise for someone who claims to be a thief."

The smile had died on her face like so many draugr now littering the devoid stone halls, feeling a bit downtrodden and annoyed that he couldn't even give her props for avoiding the death trap of a fiery inferno while also managing to procure a larceny item. Still they clambered through the burial site until a long hallway stretched up to a very familiar site. A claw door lay ahead surrounded by an array of melting candles to light the surrounding atmosphere and they both walked up to it, examining it.

"Ah, it's one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors. How quaint." Mercer's offhanded comment sounded much louder after numerous hours of silent sneaking and he waltzed up to the door with a strange amount of confidence considering neither had the key. "Without the matching claw, they're normally impossible to open. And since I'm certain Karliah has already done away with it, looks like we're on our own."

"Fortunately these doors have a weakness if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple really." Mercer pulled something from his pocket that she couldn't quite see due to the angle in which he was standing and before she could even think to move around to the other side he stepped away, a pleased smirk on his lips as the door creaked the familiar rhythm of being unlocked, the rings swirling to make out the pattern that must reside on the back of the missing claw. "Karliah's close I'm certain of it. Now let's get moving."

The dragon claw door opened with the grating of stone and Mercer hung back, insistent that she go first.

Stepping over the threshold it all happened so quickly. She never saw the arrow coming, never noticed anything was amiss until one second there was a stabbing pain in her upper shoulder, pulsating down her arm as a flash of green streaked her vision and the next thing she was falling.

Unable to catch herself let alone control her limbs at all she keeled over onto her right side, smacking the chilled floor with an audible thud as her vision dulled completely. The sound of walking echoing all around her and soon her sight was coming in and out until everything was nothing more than shadows and shapes.

Two figures began to manifest before her and she knew instantly which was Mercer by the large menacing sword strapped to his hip, the buckles of his armor holding up the Dwemer metal.

"Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade pierces your heart?" He growled, low and threatening, but it held in a secret promise.

The female figure to the left held a bow tight in her grasp, ready to shoot an arrow at the guild master should he make a sudden move towards her. Her stance was wide and ready as she braced herself for a fight. "Give me a reason to try."

"You're a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired." Rosalind blinked, her eyes burning and breathing difficult from whatever poison the arrow tip was secreting into her blood. From Mercer it had almost sounded like praise and she could only hope from her useless position on the barren stone that he could finish whatever grudge he had and, at the very least, help her back onto her feet.

"To ensure an enemies defeat you must first undermine his allies. It was the first lesson Gallus taught us." Peculiarly Karliah twirled her bow in her hands, situating into a normal standing position as she suddenly sheathed her bow behind her back.

"You always were a quick study."

"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive." Her voice sounded… distressed for the supposed murderer of their former superior, and it left Rosalind lying paralyzed on the floor, bewilderedly conflicted. Such a turn of events was entirely unexpected and a sickeningly overwhelming awareness took siege over her stomach, nausea burning up to her throat like ingesting poorly distilled mead in large quantities.

"Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way."

"Did you forget the oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him just to ignore your methods?" Karliah's question was angry, harsh with desperation to understand and it didn't suit the usual softness of her voice so far. Apart from not understanding the 'Nightingale' part she certainly understood the conversation enough to know who the real traitor in the room was, and it made her feel foolish beyond belief.

"Enough of this mindless banter," Mercer concluded, hand reaching to his side and gripping the hilt of his blade with purpose. He drew it hastily widening his stance in preparation to strike, to finish off what he had failed to do so many years ago. "Come, Karliah. It is time for you and Gallus to become reunited."

The woman lifted a vial to her lips, drank down its contents in a single gulp and as she drug a gloved hand over her lips her entire being disappeared from existence. "I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise the next time we meet, it will be your undoing."

At the loss of his prey Mercer sheathed his weapon, walking closer to his subordinate who, until now, was lying forgotten on the frozen stone floor listening to the drips of melting ice patter across the carved stone. Unable to move or defend herself she grew anxious and for a split second Mercer looked surprised to see that she was still alive, eyes staring up at him, hindered by the remnants of the poison. It was no inquiry any longer why he had made certain that she was the one to lead the way through the ruins. He had used her as a personal shield for just such an occasion and considering all her jobs thus far had given her all the evidence he was in need of getting rid of her.

"How interesting. It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible thanks to you." He drew the golden sword, light from a crack in the ceiling reflecting off the bulky blade. Had she not been poisoned into paralysis her heart would be skipping earnestly in her chest, pounding its horrified shameful beats in her ears.

"Farewell. I'll be sure to give Brynjolf your regards." He hesitated glancing between the sword and the dagger as though deciding which to use. He made his decision quick enough, thrusting the heavy Dwarven metal into her exposed vulnerable side, just above her hipbone.

The pain radiating from the puncture wound was excruciating and enough to make her eyes squeeze shut in a pathetic attempt to block it out and cut off the sight of treachery looming above, not that she would be able to see if they were open anyway. Her consciousness was slipping away fast, heart still steady and almost nonexistent. Ironic considering this would be the end of her.

Disgrace, contempt, mortification, all these things constricting her throat as swallowing grew forceful with the will to weep, scream in her exasperation. To die alone, without having fulfilled her life's purpose, in an old crypt from a betrayer no less made her eyes water in furious melancholy. Her teeth grit together at the thought of Mercer's smiling condescending face leering at her dying suffering body.

She wanted him dead. It was conquering her mind and soul, the desire to watch the life drain from his eyes in perdition for his corrupt disloyalty. Not only had he massacred a former friend but he was also coward enough to pin it on his partner and now that she was aware of the truth he would abandon her. Let her wither and die, her skin decay and rot until nothing remained but bone and the shreds of her armor.

The very last thing she could hear as her consciousness slowly succumbed to oblivion was Mercer's footsteps walking away and the reverberating silkiness of Lucien Lachance's advice whispering hauntingly.

"_Your naivety will be the blade that quickens you."_

Snow blew from all directions, a heralding storm rolling in from over the sea. A blast of cold air making the little campfire dance in a frightful way and the Dunmer was sure it would be stifled any minute now. Dragging the wounded thief out of the ruins hadn't been exceedingly difficult due to her tiny size and as Karliah did all possible to bandage up the incision she couldn't help pondering if the younger was of mixed blood.

Mercer's blade had sliced in clean and deep, somehow by stroke of luck missing all of the major organs and making the elf's job that much less demanding. An empty green vial lie forgot in the snow that had once harbored an antidote. Jaggedly torn strips of cloth, too small to wrap around the Nord's waist accompanied it, a half empty bowl of salt, and one weak healing potion perched on a rock at her side.

Karliah tended the fire, stoking it and snapping a branch in half over her knee before tossing it amongst the sunders. As a Dunmer she was chilled to the bone, shivering and holding her arms over her chest to keep in the warmth and although the Nord situated in the snow and propped again a slab of rock didn't appear uncomfortable she worried about her ability to freeze to death in such a weakened state.

The apprentice thief began to stir, eyes blinking open in confusion and a distant glaze in her blue eyes told the elf she was lightheaded and disoriented. Her nimble hands shoving bare into the white fluff of frozen water to push up but she winced and fell back into the rock.

"Easy, easy. Don't get up so quickly. How are you feeling?" Karliah asked, walking over to stand in her line of sight, concerned craning her neck too far may make the blood rush to her head and nock her out again, which would not be a good thing by any means.

Blinking as she tried to focus in on the woman her gaze lingered on her face but her eyesight was still blurred to the point she couldn't make out much more than she was a Dark Elf and covered in the same tawny brown armor as her. "You… shot me?"

Karliah shook her head in the negative, "No, I saved your life. My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out." She informed watching the Nord struggle more to get into a sitting position. Her breathing hastened, becoming deep and labored as a hand clutched at her wounded side. "If I intended to kill you, we would not be having this conversation."

"Why save me?" She asked, kicking her legs out to gain purchase beneath the snow, which she finally managed after great effort, and forced herself to sit up and lean on the stone for support.

"My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death." Karliah walked closer and knelt at her side. Her violet eyes moved over the enchanted armor clinging to the curve of her waist, beneath a spindle of bandages encompassed her form and Karliah reached out to pry at the buckles.

Rosalind's eyes shifted to her hands but did little more to stop her. "Then I'm in your debt."

The Dunmer scoffed at the understatement. "More than you'll ever realize. The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect. I only had enough for a single shot. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive."

"Why capture him alive?" She asked and Karliah shifted the material away to take in the state of her work. A rich red was beginning to blossom faintly through the bandages and it wouldn't be long till they were deemed completely inadequate.

She sighed heavily, reaching over to pluck the healing potion and hand it to the Nord. "Mercer must be brought before the guild to answer for what he's done. He needs to pay for Gallus's murder."

"How will you prove it now?" Rose took the vial, feeling the smooth grooves of the bottle in her fingers. Her side ached terribly and she stared at the minor healing potion with skepticism. No way it was strong enough to do much of anything and if memory served her right all the strong ones had already been consumed during the fight with the Deathlord.

"My purpose for using Snow Veil Sanctum wasn't simply for irony's sake. Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus remains. I suspect the information we need is written inside." Karliah's steady hands were careful as they laced the armor back into place and when she had finished she rose and moved to stand by the flickering flames of the campfire.

Popping the top off the potion Rosalind pressed the rim to her lips and drank it quickly. It tasted disgusting, making her grimace and her tongue cluck against the roof of her mouth. "What's it say?"

"I wish I knew. The journal is written in some form of ancient language I've never seen before."

Thinking for a moment the dark haired Nord dropped the empty container into the snow. A language no one knew of like the Dovah speech? It seemed farfetched to think it the Dragon language but perhaps something just as old from times long forgotten, and if so someone must know of it through study. "Can it be translated?"

"Enthir…" Karliah's face brightened in confirmation. "Gallus's friend at the College of Winterhold. Of course… It's the only outsider Gallus trusted with the knowledge of his Nightingale identity."

She frowned at the word. Wasn't that what she and Mercer had been discussing before her near death experience? Something they both were. "Nightingale?"

"There were three of us. Mercer, Gallus, and myself. We were an anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild in Riften." Admission painted her words, hesitance as though she didn't want to discuss such matters trailed behind them. "Perhaps I'll tell you more about it later, right now we should worry about securing a horse and getting you someplace to recover."

Karliah was insistent and reluctantly she kicked a bit of snow up with her boot, shoving it into the fire until it hissed and crackled, cooling into a pile of scorched limbs and grey ash. "Mercer's blade cut too deep but I did what I could. Is there someplace you would be safe?"

"Maybe," she rubbed at her injury inwardly angry that she had not felt the tiniest ping of relief from the potion. The butterfly wing, wheat, and water concoction still languishing on her tongue much to her dismay and the gash burned with a strange persistence. "Why does it burn so much?"

"I'm sorry but my Restoration skills leave something to be desired. I put some salt into the wound to dry it and keep it clean longer." She confessed, marching over and taking her arm helping to lift her till she stood upon shaky legs, ready to buckle under her weight. Karliah looped her arm over her shoulders, being wary of her hip, while pulling her bag from the ground to carry in her hand. "Now, where is it you want to go?"

Rosalind was hesitant. She couldn't return to the Guild, or Riften, now that Mercer was out for her blood and Whiterun was too chancy. It was in direct line south and her former guild master may stop in for some supplies and even if he didn't it wouldn't do for the Companions, Lydia, or the Jarl to see her in such conditions. She sighed, "You won't like it." She warned.

Karliah had helped her make it to the road and they walked along in the direction of Falkreath. Well, Karliah walked and Rosalind sort of hobbled at her side. Travelers rarely ventured from the cobblestone paths that mapped the country and the Dunmer thief was positive they would run into someone with a horse eventually, which they had.

An Imperial man and his Breton wife were traveling on horseback and after a little persuasion and a coin purse of gold Karliah had talked them into surrendering the beast so that she could take the poor injured girl to see a healer.

The elf hoisted herself into the saddle and waited, holding out an arm to pull her traveling companion up behind her. It took some time and a large amount of situating before they had gotten it just right and in the midst of doing so it aggravated the concave gash immensely, practically toppling her over off the horse in crippling pain. Luckily Karliah had managed to hold onto her and even gotten the girl's dainty arms secured around her before they began to ride off.

Hours later Rosalind was slumping against the woman's back, fading as blood seeped out of the wrappings and trickling down until it ran out from under her cuirass and over her pants. Droplets stained the horse's coat and bled pink in the snow as they flew through the night. Karliah had long ago veered off the cobblestone, going cross country to get there faster.

"I'm not sure I should be doing this. The Dark Brotherhood have a great many secrets. I'm sure they are not afraid to take action if they are threatened." Karliah's voice creaked over the wind rushing past them, uneasy at their upcoming destination.

Rosalind's eyes opened for the first time in hours, her chin resting snug against the Dunmer's shoulder blade now that she had little strength to keep her head up on its own. Her entire concentration was ensuring she stayed awake long enough to open the black door. "I need them."

"I'm risking my life." In truth she was. Thieves are the cousins of assassins and although they usually preferred to keep their personal matters separate, the group of murders were not near as welcome to outsiders traipsing through their sanctuaries without good reason, even their distant cousins.

"And I am not? To help prove you're innocent." Considering her words she had a point that could not be denied and for a split second she truly wished she had asked to go to Whiterun. They would have been there by now, Karliah would have no unnecessary worries, but then there was the matter of the Companions and how they handled situations like this. Aela had sent her to slaughter a great deal of Silver Hand after Skjor was slain and Vilkas's bloodlust had lead them both to seek revenge by annihilating the remainder of them after Kodlak's death. What would they do if their new Harbinger showed up half dead on the doorstep? "They won't kill you. They won't be happy, but they won't kill you."

"How can you be sure?"

Rosalind gave a weak faint smile and although Karliah couldn't see it she felt the muscle twitch against her shoulder. "Just trust me."

Karliah sighed, "Alright, if I expect you to trust me I suppose I have no choice but to return the favor."

Arriving at the sanctuary made Karliah feel like she was walking to the gallows. A death sentence with no guarantee of getting out alive, no matter how many strings you pulled or gold you splurged to greedy hands to procure an escape.

Had Rose not been in such dire shape she would have simply dropped her off and urged the steed into a gallop, riding like a bat out of hell as far and fast as possible, no matter how tired the beast was.

Instead she found herself standing before the great black door, a skull and a handprint decorating it in its symbolism, with a near dead member dressed in the armor of a thief draped and bleeding around her neck. The great door asked its question and the dark sister at her side mumbled out a response, the eerie voice beckoning them welcome as it slide open.

Not sure what to expect, be it the layout or the 'family's' reaction to her presence she chanced a look at the near unconscious assassin at her side. Blue eyes were dropping nearly closed but as the elf moved and urged her forward the tiny Nord still managed to move her feet along with her.

They moved through the door over the threshold and it slide and slammed closed echoing behind them as it sealed shut making the Dunmer breath deep to calm her nerves. There certainly was no turning back at this point as the whole sanctuary was surely alerted that they were there.

Karliah helped slide her along, violet eyes glancing about in search of any of the members loitering about. They made it to a small inner chamber, two tunnels branching out, one leading toward an empty bedroom while the other slanted downwards to what must have been the main compartment of the underground refuge.

Passing some large bookshelves and a table they made it down stepping out into the cavern. A waterfall up ahead splashed noisily into a pool and was surrounded by alchemy ingredients. An ancient Dragon wall nestled itself to the left in a shaded quadrant. Torches and a forge lit up the space enough for them to see and Karliah tried to stifle the hammering of her heart as a deeply rich green Argonian caught sight and lept to his feet.

A lengthy hiss alerted the other members in the room, particularly a large white haired Nord who had been conversing with a blond of the same race. The lizard ripped a dagger free and advanced, stopping short and eyeing her deathly. The other male in the room had similar thoughts as he brandished a sword and squared up ready to pounce on her while the woman sauntered up, confident and at ease, knowing the elf provided little threat.

Karliah instantly figured her as the leader.

"What have you done?!" Veezara's throaty hiss broke the standstill, his yellow eyes sweeping over his injured sister with worry, watching the scarlet drip from beneath her strange leather clothing to the floor below.

"Calm yourself, Veezara," Astrid strode forward, crossing her arms as her eyes took careful calculation over what was presented to her. "I hardly doubt this is the doing of the elf." Certainly no one was foolish enough to attempt a murder of one of their members and then drag them into the lion's den to show it off. No, no one was the stupid.

"My lady," Karliah began voice soft and forced into a tranquility that conflicted with her inner fear and silent pleading that they lower their weapons. "Your sister wished me to bring her here… I'm afraid she is gravely wounded."

"As I can see," Astrid barely made a move to relieve her of the Nord that had long fallen against her side. Her eyes were now completely shut and it was only Karliah's body that was bearing her weight, bracing her up as her raspy breathing was a sign of her unconsciousness.

A crowd gathered at the top of yet another incline and a small ruby-eyes child gasped. Her hand cupping her mouth before she swirled around and ran off.

An unsavory chuckle resounded from a dark skinned man, his head bound and wrapped in a white turban as he turned his head to call over his shoulder. "Lucien, do come have a look at this. It seems our sister has returned… Somewhat." The Redguard man shrugged at the last word, seemingly on the brink of ill-conceived laughter and somehow amused and giddy under such circumstances.

The thing she saw next made her purple eyes widen considerably in disbelief. A phantom, ghost, whatever you want to call it, appeared beside the Redguard man and the coal pigmented eyes stared down at her, burrowing into her own for a fraction of a second before landing on their 'sister.'

She could hardly even blink before the specter was down the incline and making pace, abrupt with resolve, towards her, a hand resting on a ghostly blade strapped to his side.

"Lucien," Astrid's hard commanding tone was a near shout as the ghost advanced on the elf. "She came here to return our dark sister to us. You and Arnbjorn take her upstairs immediately and see to her wounds... Maybe Babette can provide some assistance as well."

The white haired male sheathed his blade and practically ripped the girl away from her, hoisting her into his muscular arms. "Hang on there, Tidbit." Arnbjorn whispered carrying her upstairs and out of sight. Lucien lingered behind, hand still perched on the hilt of a dagger, soulless eyes seemingly darkening with an indigenous protectiveness, either for the girl or the sanctuary she was unsure. Eventually he broke away, retreating up the incline to follow after the large Nord.

"You're either very brave or very foolish to step into a sanctuary of assassins." Astrid commented with a quirk of her lips. "But I assume I should be thanking you for returning a wounded sister to us."

Karliah nodded in good graces. "Forgive my intrusion. I only mean to help her."

"Yes," Astrid gestured for her to follow towards the place they had taken the injured thief and lead her slowly to what must have been the sleeping quarters.

Rose was lying on top the blankets of a nearby bed, Lucien's methodic fingers loosening the buckles of her armor and stripping away the layers of leather and soiled bandages to reveal a mangled gash, his ethereal hand tossing away the bloodied soiled bindings. The large Nord was situated out of the way and the un-child was mixing and preparing herbs as she passed the ghost a bowl of clean water and a rag.

Astrid watched the phantom Speaker soak the cloth and proceed to sweep away the blood, sanitizing the wound as Babette saw to the potion making. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind enlightening us of just what ran afoul our dark sister."

"A betrayal in the Thieves Guild." Karliah answered automatically. She had been expecting the question long before it was asked. "She had come to Snow Veil Sanctum with the guild master and after learning of the truth he decided to get her out of the way… permanently."

"Oh, and what truth?" Astrid seemed almost amused by this.

"Forgive me my lady, but I can say no more. Only that I was framed for a murder that was his and to hide his actions from the guild he had no other choice but to kill her."

"I see. Well I assure she will be well taken care of from here." Astrid gestured towards the stairs and Karliah followed her down to the bottom. "I hope you don't think me rude but I'm afraid you must go. A bold and risky move you took coming in here is admirable, and although we do appreciate having Rosalind returned to us, you are not of the Dark Brotherhood and therefore unwelcome."

"I understand." Karliah was filled with relief at the proposition. Promise aside she wasn't banking on being allowed to leave quite so easily and she wasn't going to stick around to test it. "Again, please forgive me my intrusion. If I may, when she wakes, would you please just let her know I am going to Winterhold?"

"Of course. I will belay the message, or someone else shall."

"Thank you." Karliah made a slight bow of respect before walking away towards the door and leaving the sanctuary with quick steps.

Astrid walked back upwards to see to the patient, finding her still fast asleep and Lucien doing away with the cuirass. Tossing it aside with little thought to where it landed he situated himself next to her on the bed, dragging the fur blanket up to cover the nakedness of her majorly exposed torso.

"What did I say?" Nazir asked rounding the corner and making full eye contact with Lachance before pointing out, "Don't invest emotions in someone who may not be here in a week."

"Nazir, please, that's hardly helpful right now. Our sister is in great pain and you're acting like a cynical know-it-all." Gabriella chastised moving about the room, looking over her bloodied sister and the resentment shimmering in the depths of the specter's gaze. She quickly began chasing the others out of the room aside from the vampire child who was busy pouring mixtures into bottles and setting them up on the table. "Our sister needs rest without any of you disturbing her."

* * *

Lucien could count the number of times he's ever truly felt guilty on a single hand. Most of these moments had occurred sometime in his early youth, before his days as an assassin, and were genuinely petty, not worth remembrance or mention.

His Listener's dying form beside him was the start of an entirely new hand, because he should have been there. The Night Mother, the Dread Father, both had entrusted her security to him. It was never a coincidence; never just chance that Astrid had handed over his scroll to the apprentice newcomer who just so happened to be later named Listener.

There were no coincidences, and there were no accidents.

Everything that occurred in the midst of the Brotherhood was scripted and foretold in the Void long before it happened, and though he may not always understand the reasoning behind events, like his mutilation at the hands of the governing body, he learned not to question them. It was the will of Sithis and now that he was accepted into the cold embrace of the afterlife he was privileged to a vast amount of knowledge and foresight.

Not everything granted, because the Night Mother still had a great many secrets, but anything that she willed him to know he accepted with great honor and humility. If only she had willed him to know of the traitor lurking in the Thieves Guild, he would have been far more adamant about sticking beside her, un-concerning of her feelings towards him.

Yes, Lucien Lachance, though dead, felt guilty as he glanced down at her sleeping face. Sweat on her brow, dampening the hair at the crown as her labored breathing filled the silence. Even in the throws of sleep she looked pained and it hadn't passed his attention that she wasn't twitching or groaning in the heat of nightmares, suffering too much even to dream.

He wasn't sure just how long he had been sitting beside her, watching the blankets around her chest rise and fall just to assure himself that she was still alive and he had not failed the unholy matron. Hours he guessed, endless hours of watching and waiting, and when her eyes twitched and a small whimper sounded as she awoke he was quite relieved.

Those icy blue irises opened, blinking up at the ceiling, her hand slipping out from beneath the warmth of the covers to clutch her head in agony. She gave no indication that she was aware of his presence despite the fact they remained separated by only a few inches.

He shifted on the bed, his weight making it dip and alerting her that he was there. Her gaze turned and half-lidded eyes blinked at him. She looked surprised and weary as though expecting him to yell at her, maybe even hurt her, and just because she expected such an inappropriate reaction it made him want to.

Made him want to growl in outrage yet smile in some form of pleasure to have her awake and alive… and safe. Why didn't he follow her? Or better yet, why didn't she call for him?

The blackness of his eyes was unblinking as he looked deep into hers the flickering wick of the nearby candle casting shadows upon her face, "You did not call for me."

She shied away, turning her head to the side to avoid looking directly at him in what he could only peg as shame. "No."

"Why?" He asked, an overwhelming need to know stirred deep inside him, lashing darkly trying to get out. "My blade is yours." He informed for future reference, this way she be aware that he was willing to fight alongside her at any given moment. No hesitation, no questions asked. May her enemies be his enemies.

Her arched brows knitted together, contemplating and curious. "Why do you care so much?"

"You have been named Listener. There is no higher honor."

Her head turned back as she regarded him carefully. A long pause of silence lingered between them and when she spoke her voice was soft, quiet, and somehow sad. "My rank is all you care about?"

"It is my duty to ensure your safety. I will deny you nothing." He assured.

"You didn't answer me." She pointed out, vision shifting downward as she stared at the blanket residing over her body. The weight of her armor was missing and there was a constricting feeling around her waist from fresh bandages.

Lucien was silent for a long while, not sure how to respond to her exactly. Was anything more important than the rank bestowed upon her? Did she not see the tremendous honor? "…I am under obligation to respect you."

Rose's eyes widened and she suddenly turned onto her side, facing away from him and distraught by his answer. Was all anyone really cared about was her titles? What she could do for them and what they could do to get on her good side?

Lucien shifted closer to her on the bed, his hand lifted from its resting place it pried the covers away to bear her flesh to his eyes. He allowed his palm to settle itself gently on her wounded side, earning a flinch as she tucked her hands beneath her chin, feeling his fingers trace the gash beneath the cloth. "The sting of betrayal. There is no pain stronger."

"I was foolish." Her chocked admission was followed by a deep inhale and think swallow and for a moment he expected to see tears run down, streaking her cheeks in anguish.

"For bringing the elf into our sanctuary," he pointed out with some mild displeasure. It would be unbecoming for her to think that he would overlook a disregard for their safety. "Or falling victim to a rogue thief?"

She shook her head negatively before burrowing closer into the pillow. "For being too prideful to ask for your help," she admitted softly, sniffling as she resisted the tears welling in her eyes. She would not cry in front of Lucien, not give him the satisfaction of seeing her break apart all because of some bastard Breton and her own pigheadedness not to listen to what he had to say.

"That too." He agreed, feeling the roughness of the cloth as he laid his hand over it, the chill of his hand seeping through to numb her skin pleasantly. "You could have been killed."

"I'm sorry, Speaker… I let you down."

Lucien could not recall the last time he had been referred to in such a way, shown that gravity of respect from any of his dark family, but it felt liberating and he grinned. "No, my Listener." The hand at her side moved away, tugging the blanket back over to keep her warm and her modesty intact. Instead he reached up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear as a soothing friendly sort of gesture. "I have made it impossible for you to come to me. The fault is mine. I allowed my judgment to become… clouded."

"I don't understand," she confessed staring back at him through the corner of her eyes.

"Were I less intimidating," he insinuated, stressing the word were for emphasis, "would you not have sought me from the Void?"

"I-"

"Your hesitance is my affirmative."

Speaking of the betrayal she had almost forgotten about the Dunmer. "… Where is Karliah?"

"She awaits your recovery in Winterhold." The silence moved over them yet again and his features became stern and honest. "I am not pleased by her presence here."

"I know." She would willingly accept all blame for inviting an outsider into the sanctuary. There was no excuse to be had, even injured as she was. There were reasons for not letting non family members into their midst. Guards would give anything to be able to come into the place and slaughter them all, rid the world of the sinister shadows.

Lucien's thumb swept over the smooth pale skin of her cheek before withdrawing his touch altogether and standing. "Sleep now. You will need your rest."

She watched him retreat from the room, blowing out the candle next to the bed as he went. Her eyes felt heavy still from all the blood loss and she yawned as she closed her eyes.

Maybe Lucien really wasn't such a bad guy after all.

Tenet two, broken.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Well this is the second one done. Sorry about the long wait but I have been distracted by many things and ideas lately. I also noticed that I may be in need of a beta if anyone is interested :)

Thanks guys! Reviews are love!


	4. Tenet 3

**Title: **5 Tenets

**By: **CypressArtemis

**Summary: **There are certain codes one must follow when inducted into the brotherhood. Traditions long since forsaken with the death of the previous listener, yet the Dovahkiin has still managed to break them all anyway. Hinted, Lucien x Dovahkiin. Spoilers.

* * *

Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis.

"Did you need something?" Astrid's patronizing tone reverberated irritably from her throat. Her slumped stature resting upon a large worn throne situated before the table, glancing over the map she scribbled on a sliver of paper she was hunched over. Her fingertips resting on the quill's smooth slanted shoulder nestled between her thumb and forefinger as she drug its ink soaked nub across the white sheet, curved black lines filled the empty space as she began to mark X's over locations on the world map in indication of completed contracts.

"Not something," Lucien's glowing translucency materialized across from her, loitering by a looming bookshelf proudly displaying a book of Sithis, eyes set with determination as they tracked the motions of the striped feather jostling in her hand and taking note of the blonde Nord as she worked with careful intensity and mild frustrations. "More like an answer."

Her attention wavered and her leather clad hand stilled mid stroke. Mud gaze flicking up to peer at him as he stared down his nose at her, something she wholeheartedly resented and showed with the application of pressure against the page stimulating the ink to bleed forth from the pen to create a sizable splotch, practically ruining the latest written word amidst the ooze. "Answer, to what?"

Silent steps proceeded forward, the enchanted shrouded shoes upon his almost nonexistent legs made nary a sound on the stonework floor as he approached. He was unnaturally quiet when he moved, and if he were still alive she would have been floored by his skill but he was dead, a ghost, and it was of satisfactory explanation for his uncanny stealth. She blatantly refused, with hinted jealousy, to consider that 200 years prior he was just as talented if not more, enchanted garments or not. "I find myself wondering whom it was our Dark Sister eliminated come her initiation process."

Astrid's birdlike chirp of a laugh, humorless with its regaled entertainment at his ignorance, ignited from her painted lips coating the room like an invisible bout of magelight. "I'm sure our humbled _Listener_ would tell you herself if only you'd asked."

Displeasure crossed his features as he leaned in threateningly and sucked his teeth, "I'm not asking her, am I?"

"Well if you persist," Astrid smiled mirthlessly, lips stretched tight with practiced precision that barely hid her own irritation behind fake friendliness. "Her victim of choice was the Khajiit. Vasha, I believe his name _was_, had been renowned and demanded quite a bit of negative attention for being a conniving charlatan… among other things."

"And her weapon of choice during such events?" He inquired, leaning back into a more respectable distance. His arms moved to cross over his chest as they usually did when he was disinterested in the company around him.

"A simple hunting bow." Astrid commented lamentingly as she conjured the memory of the initiate's kill in her mind. Normally she was a stickler for the details, wanting to savor the moment and bloodshed but the encounter had left her rather disappointed. "The whole ordeal was rather… boring."

_When Lucien had reported back to the sanctuary with the news of a completed contract by someone other than the Dark Brotherhood Astrid had insisted on checking in on the possible recruit personally. Unfortunately the summoned Speaker had returned in one of his moods, as Astrid had come to call them, and was less than informative about sufficient details other than the usual whereabouts in the southeastern hold while also ridiculing that a mere armature had taken the liberty of completing what should have been __**her**__ business to begin with. So she had left home in a rather foul mood, bidding the man farewell as he traversed back to the planes of the Void of his own volition. _

_The journey was long and tiresome leaving her plenty of time to stew over the course of events and future plans to come as she lulled atop the midnight horse. Shadowmere's snorts of contempt for being made to walk sounded every mile or so as its rider scowled in reminiscence and through a hasty and brash moment of resentment and hope she had summoned the thrall back from Sithis and the Blood Flower. _

_A blue luminescent blast erupted on the cobblestone, halting the great demonic equestrian. Its ruby eyes turned on the emerging humanoid shape as the magic disintegrated in the thin air. Astrid's grip on the reins tightened when the large beast reared sharply, its impressive neck craning in the direction of its once owner whose pale hand descended onto the offered snout in a stroke of affection. _

"_Off to Riften are we?" He asked, a bit too sarcastic for her taste, as he paid more attention to the horse than to her. _

"_I will ask you only once more," she warned, narrowing her eyes at him while watching as Shadowmere dipped its head into his head with a satisfied nicker. "Who am I looking for?"_

_Black eyes met hers, a smile stretching on his lips as his hands fell to his sides much to the horse's displeasure. "The Thane, dear sister." _

_Her grasp on the leather tightened, turning her knuckles white as she inwardly snarled. That was the only answer he had been giving her since he waltzed back into the underground haven. By Sithis, he hadn't even given away the gender of this "Thane" she was looking for. Was this some ill conceived form of punishment he was toiling in? "I care little for titles, Lucien. A name and location will suffice nicely."_

"_I'm sure it would," his smirk broadened in a form of cruel pleasure until he went rigid. His body stiffening and his eyes drooping shut. He was still and silent as the dead for several minutes and Astrid found herself growing unnerved with the turn of events. _

_Shadowmere snorted, shaking his mane loose and pawing at the stones with impatience as Astrid tugged on the leather to move around the ghost and be on her way. The stallion's head redirected itself to maneuver around him when Lucien's hand jolted out to grab the cheek strap on the bridle, halting her in place, his soulless glare falling on the sight of her astride __**his**__ mare. "Best hurry, sister. Our Matron informs me your target is making preparations to leave town shortly." _

_Astrid huffed as the anger began to roil. If she missed this opportunity because he had to be a stubborn jackass she would be thoroughly pissed off, maybe even having to stop on the way back to take out such rage on a poor innocent. "Then tell me what I need to know to find them." _

_Lucien's smile returned full force, subtle and seductive as was natural for him, in a way that made even her tingle with a mix of allure and dismay. He must have had the entire sanctuary bowing at his feet during his time. His right arm moved and when his wrist flicked she saw the magic encompassing his hand, building within his palm in a flurry of purple wisps until they released to surround his body, disappearing along with him seconds later. _

_Staring at the empty spot she noticed Shadowmere's halter slacken and noticed the way its head turned and followed up the path as though watching the man walk away. She nudged the horse until it complied and began trotting onward towards Riften, her teeth gritting as she cursed the invisible phantom patrolling the roads ahead of her. _

_She had arrived that night at the Bee and Barb almost five days after the murder of the elderly woman that the guards had yet to shut up about. Having arrived in the late evening she waded into the inn, covertly styled in a plain sage green dress and flimsy thin soled shoes that provided a disguise from the black and red armor of the Brotherhood stored comfortably in her pack. The female Argonian at the counter had sold her a room but proved equally as stubborn as the ghost who had yet to make an appearance, refusing to provide any information on a certain Thane no matter how much charm the assassin used. _

_The blond Nord had flashed a mouthful of white teeth, her best smile, and produced a nicely sizable coin purse from her pocket. "Anything you could tell me would be well rewarded," her honey voice promised as the coins clinked together from the confines of the pouch. Usually the noise was music to a shop owner's ears. _

_The Argonian scowled unimpressed and glanced away when a man stumbled up to the counter with a slur of poorly strewn together words. She ducked and grabbed a tankard, her amethyst ring clinked on the mug as she pored some mead and passed it to an already drunk Breton who stumbled away just as quickly as he appeared. Keerava leaned over onto crossed arms, the green and scarlet dress clinging to her tan scaled skin and her orange eyes narrowed suspiciously at the newcomer. "Did you need some kind of favor done or something?"_

_Astrid took the presented opportunity and nodded, "yes as a matter of fact."_

_Keerava's clawed hand splayed over the countertop, her ember gaze flickering off to the side as she searched the bar for her fiancé. He was standing across the way leaning against the wall and when their eyes met he turned his attentions away from the drunken population and eyed the blonde female, his green hand undoubtedly resting on the hilt of his dagger in preparations for the worst. _

_Astrid nearly rolled her eyes at such a pathetic display. If she decided to become violent no one in this place was going to stop her. She was a trained killer for hire, the leader of the once most renowned group of cutthroats to ever exist and no Argonian that spent their nights babysitting some drunk purse snatchers was going to succeed in killing her._

_Still the reassurance of her mate seemed to make her bolder, more confident, and she sized her up with a suspicious gleam and an aggressive hiss. "Well, if you don't mind my asking, what sort of favor are you seeking?" _

"_I'm afraid it's very… personal." Astrid perked at the challenge but her demeanor remained that of a pleasant customer. In a sense it was a private bit of business, perhaps one could essentially call what was in store a favor. The thought alone made her smile in a way that put the Argonian on edge and hunker back away from the tabletop. _

_Keerava's tail swirled behind her and a clawed hand reached beneath the counter to trail over the leather hilt of a steel dagger she kept around for situations like this. The Nord standing before her was way out of her league for sure. She had a wickedly secretive smile and her brown eyes sparkled with a darkness that made her uncomfortable and instantly defensive. Keerava knew she wasn't dealing with one of Brynjolf's thieves or a bandit, but something much __**much**__ worse that she wasn't sure of yet. "If you think I'm buying, you are sorely mistaken. I've heard better lies from drunks on their last mead of the night."_

_Astrid's brow quirked. "How intuitive," she purred complimentary. _

"_Intuitive? No." The sandy scaled woman chuckled throatily. "I've been a bartender in the most corrupt city of Skyrim for several years now. At this point very little gets past me and I have learned not to believe a word from anyone here." _

_Astrid scrunched the coin purse in her hand, noting the blade she had hidden beneath her dress and calculating how long it would take to pry it from the fastenings and slash the leathery throat before the room erupted into chaos. Her brow raised at the thought and a smirk met her lips when she accounted she could probably do away with the lizard and her mate before the female Nord in heavy steel across the way, eyeing her from the table whispering with some man, could draw the battleaxe and charge. "Am I to assume you aren't going to help me?"_

"_I will not help you find her," Keerave's gutteral voice informed and she paused, watching her carefully for a long moment. "But I will give you bits of common information if you so desire, for a price of course. Take it or leave it."_

_Astrid hummed in interest. Now that she knew she was looking for a woman it made things infinitely easier. Men always wore some form of armor no matter their occupation, women on the other hand tended to avoid such things unless it was job related or for adventuring. "You certainly take advantage of a situation. I suppose I could be persuaded to part with say… 50 septims."_

"_That will get you a brief overview," the lizard informed matter-of-factly. _

_Astrid displayed the gold on the counter and Keerave swept it up into her palm and pocketed it. "Riften's Thane goes by the name Rosalind. Met her the first time she came into town looking for a room and multiple times after. I'm sure if you asked around the guards they could direct you to her home, but not without drawing suspicion considering you're an outsider, and of course as Thane she has a housecarl to guard the place. If you don't want to go through the hassle of dealing with the guards I suppose you could wait around and hope she shows up. She likes to come in once in a while to socialize and meet with potential clients."_

_Astrid digested the information as she eyed the room, looking over the occupants. For a moment she had considered that the brawny woman with the face paint could be what she was looking for but she didn't seem the type to be stealthy by any means with her choice of wear and the man at her side appeared less than a body guard. Plus the Argonian's last bit of information had told her that who she sought wasn't in the establishment at the current time. "Well thank you for your cooperation and advice, though I can't seem to understand why you care so much."_

"_I have my reasons. Rosalind and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot but she has made more than enough amends over a small bit of coin that I scarcely miss." _

"_I see," Astrid, gathered what little things she had brought in with her after stabling her horse and looked to the stairs. "I suppose I'll just spend the night and take my time searching tomorrow." _

_Keerava nodded and went about her nightly chores of sweeping and wiping down mugs as Astrid strode up the stairs in search of her room, annoyed when the green scaled mate had pranced up with her to make sure she wasn't fiddling with anything she wasn't supposed to. She found the room on the right and dumped her things on the table before falling into bed for the night. _

_She awoke early the next morning and walked out into the desolate streets. Most of the shopkeepers were still inside their houses save for a male Argonian putting jewels and necklaces in a display case. A door slammed shut beside his stall as a Nord man dumped a pile of metal ingots onto a workbench and began stacking them for easy access. A dark elf came out into the chilled morning air to stand beside a cart of fresh meat while the homeless man nearby pulled what little bit of ragged blanket he had over his head in hopes of more sleep. _

_Astrid waited in the center of town, sitting among a stack of boxes until the stalls filled and people mingled outside browsing their wares. Her eyes swept the crowds taking in faces and attire, mainly of the women that gathered in the streets. All she had to do was find a woman with armor other than the blonde with the obnoxious streak of green over half her face and the bitch of a peddler shouting over the other venders. _

_She had considered asking around again but the run around she had been getting lately made her reconsider. Whoever this woman was certainly made friends fast, she'd be lucky if the lizard didn't find her first and warn her away. There was already a time limit to find her to begin with and if the lizard blew it for her Astrid vowed to make her see the error of her ways in the most painful method possible. _

_Leaning into the stone wall she felt the cold slither through the fabric of her dress to grace her skin as she sighed with growing impatience. Her arms crossed over her chest as the citizens mingled and gossiped and around the corner of the inn a dark haired woman emerged in sorrel leathers, a sword strapped to her hip as she staggered with a yawn towards the blacksmith. _

_Hope ignited deep within the assassin and she pushed herself up from the boxes and mingled close enough to watch her give the man what appeared to be Fire Salts. The blacksmith was overjoyed and handed her some gold, a toothy grin on his soot smeared face as they made small talk._

"_I do so love Riften."_

_The familiar un-embodied voice startled her though she didn't show it. Her eyes wavered to the side not surprised that he was still very much invisible, but she could feel the frozen chill he threw off and the charged energy of the magic engulfing him. _

_Astrid turned away just in time to see the female turn around and smile almost bashfully at a fiery haired Nord nearby dressed to the T in some of the finest clothes with an array of red vials littering the stall. Dark eyes roamed her face to take in her appearance for the first time. Pretty as she was she was young, very young, and the skin around her eyes was darkened with sleep deprivation. It could be plausible that she hadn't slept since the kill if this in fact was the one she was after and that made her curious as well. Guilty conscious perhaps, or something of… Daedric influence? _

_In hopes that Lucien could be persuaded to cooperate if she was civil enough she gave a small grin and crooked her head, whispering through her lips so as not to draw attention to herself. "You seem in a pleasant mood today, Lachance." _

"_For now," he responded and when his energy wavered she cleared her throat, stopping him from walking off._

"_Is this her?" She asked, leaning her weight into her right leg as she crossed her arms to appear nonchalant to the public eye. It wouldn't do for them to think she was talking to herself and stalking random people on the street, most importantly their Thane. _

"_Yes," his statement was the first direct answer he had ever really given her and she was surprised by this, but even more so when the thank you left her lips without thought, this was just as shocking. Lucien's dark laugh echoed in her ears and she felt his presence leave her in the midst of the city so he could trail after the target. She knew the instant he got within range of her because the smile on her lips died and she instantly excused herself from the redhead Nord selling potions._

_Astrid almost laughed at just how uncomfortable she looked through the course of the day. Lucien's invisible form walking beside the young girl as Astrid followed, busying herself by talking with the locals, an act to appear as though she belonged there on some sort of business. Unnecessary as it was considering Riften's Thane hardly took notice to her, never once looking over her shoulder seeing as how she was much too preoccupied with the invisible apparition haunting her every step. Astrid smiled. Sometimes Lucien did have his perks. _

_She had kept close watch on her in hopes of seeing where she lived, which she eventually did, and afterwards she saw little reason to continue pushing her luck. Someone was bound to notice her eventually so she had decided to return to the inn and later that night was when she had put things into motion._

_Sneaking into the house wasn't hard and neither was avoiding detection from her housecarl who had been passed out in the basement. No, the hard part was getting the poison into her system without waking her and harder still was getting her out of the house and onto Shadowmere's back without the guards and locals having a conniption. Good thing Lucien was feeling generous and opted to carry the unconscious Nord even after Astrid made it clear that he wasn't invited to watch the initiation at the shack. She had sent Arnbjorn out to collect the three victims she had specified and was pleased that when she arrived they were all bound and blindfolded, awaiting their fate._

_Lucien had long abandoned her somewhere in the Rift and was probably enjoying being back in the Void by this point. Astrid had stopped Shadowmere by the shack and carried the girl inside, locking the door behind her as she pocketed the only key. She dumped the initiate onto the floor and decided the bookcase looked like a decent place to kick back and wait for her to come to._

_It was hours into the night when she finally stirred, sitting up and clasping her head as though dizzy from excessive drink. Hazy eyes blinking and trying to focus as the poisonous effect of the sleeping potion dulled. Astrid looked onwards with a mild form of expectance. "Sleep well?"_

_Rosalind jolted at the unfamiliar voice. Her head was pounding and her sight was blurred but things began to come together and even out into a clear picture. She could make out the dimly lit interior of a room that most certainly wasn't hers and on top a bookshelf in the corner was a strange woman with her face covered, all black death and blood red armor. "… Where am I?"_

"_Does it matter? You're warm, dry, and very much alive. That's more than can be said for old Grelod. Hmm?" She sounded pleased like she was smiling beneath her mask as she spoke. Her left leg lazily swinging over the edge of the case as the candles flickered. A rather loud gust of wind stuck at the wooden paneling of the house, seeping through the cracks and wafting Rose's deepest darkest secret, struck with a charismatic voice, about the lodge. _

_The Dragonborn's eyes widened, mind going blank as she tried to register if she had heard correctly. Her stomach churned in a nauseating way, heart speeding up in a panic. She felt like a small child again, caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "You know about that?"_

"_Of course, considering half of Skyrim knows as well." She sighed, her arm coming to rest behind her head as she relaxed farther. From the looks of her you'd think they were discussing the weather prognosis for tomorrow. "Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage. Things like that tend to get around."_

_When the girl didn't respond aside from downcast eyes and a deep faraway appearance Astrid continued, analytical of how she twitched with unfathomed confusion. Surely she was puzzling things together. The contract, the Brotherhood, the mysterious note… the witness. "Don't misunderstand. I'm not criticizing after all. Old crone had it coming, and you saved a group of urchins. What could be better?"_

_Rosalind flicked her eyes back to the woman as she scrunched her legs up. Her knees hit her chest and a welcomed relief spiked through her blood when her fingers touched the leather of her armor, the weight of her sword discernible at her hip. At least they had privileged her to keep her weaponry, but for what reason was more puzzling. "If you don't care about Grelod then why am I here?"_

_Astrid hummed thoughtfully, "well you see there is a slight… problem."_

_Rosalind's head tilted and a guarded caution blared warnings in her ear. The armor itself invoked terror, the woman's nonchalance to murder was disturbing, how she knew of her deeds was outlandish, and the fact that her armor and weapons had not been taken while she herself had obviously been kidnapped at some point after going to bed in over a week was means for severe anxiety. She did not like where this was headed or what she was almost positive this woman represented. "Problem?"_

"_You see that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill… you stole. A kill you __**must**__ repay." She was informative and demanding and Rose's breath hitched at the prospect of killing another defenseless person. _

_She should have known. Of course she was from the Dark Brotherhood, an assassin, and no wonder she had managed to invade her home and abduct her so effortlessly. She sighed heavily, her hands rubbing over her temples in an attempt to calm her nerves. She was expecting to be killed herself for interfering in their private business, instead she was being coerced into murdering someone else and sullying her reputation and morality further. "You want me to kill someone else…" _

_The premonition hung in the air, dangling sickly, silk spider web strands of guilt woven to constrict her heart. _

"_Yes and if you turn around you'll notice my guests. I've "collected" them from… well that's not really important. The here and now, that's what matters." _

_Rosalind turned her head to take in the sight of the collected victims. Three people were hunched over on their knees, arms bound together behind their backs, black hoods covering their heads completely so they could see nothing. In some manner it was heart wrenching and a horrid hopelessness burrowed in her guts making her sick with the knowledge that one of them would have to die if she wanted to get out of there alive. _

"_You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and that person can't leave this room alive. But…" Astrid released a fake distressed sigh, "which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. I just want to observe… and admire." _

_She said nothing as she pushed her legs out and stood. They shook beneath her, unsteady from lack of movement for such a long period not to mention the poison traversing her body. Sitting against the table, holding various tools and embalming equipment she shuddered to imagine what had been used for concerning the blood stains coating the floor and walls, was her hunting bow and arrows. Snatching them up she swung the quiver over her shoulder, her gaze flicked towards the door and she stared at it, considering making a break for it. Foolish as it was, this woman was too smart to drag her all the way there just to leave the door unlocked._

_Astrid cleared her throat and was met with a pair of iced over blue that gleamed in the shadows. She almost smiled beneath the mask, "Shall I take your silence as acceptance? Then you know where we stand. Make your kill and we're square. Repayment of your debt is but a discrete knife thrust away."_

_Rosalind had taken her time speaking to each victim. Starting with the whimpering Nord who, when it came down to it, was just too cowardly to kill. He was terrified and honest and … polite considering the situation. He conjured a deep bout of pity and reluctance that made her frown as she stroked his shoulder and whispered silently that everything would be ok. He had sniffled beneath the mask as she moved on his sobbing voice cracking as he pleaded not to die here._

_The second victim tied to a pole was a snotty angry woman. Shrill and harsh was her voice as she reprimanded her and the Brotherhood for being cowards and stealing a mother from her children in the middle of the night. She had disgustingly threatened to spit in her face if she wasn't released so she could return to her six fatherless children. Apparently she didn't have time to be nice after her deadbeat husband abandoned her, and although Rose had somehow managed to become very irritated with hate under the circumstances, the thought of orphaning a group of children because their mother was stretched thin with responsibility and no help made her shake with repulsion. If Rose had been in her situation she probably wouldn't have time to care what others thought either, so she rolled her eyes and walked away. _

_The third victim was a Khajiit male and the first sentence that had spewed from his disgraceful mouth had pretty much sealed his fate. Still she had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt that he must not be that bad, but he was by far the most repugnant man she had ever spoken to. He was, by his confirmation, a murder, thief, and possibly a rapist. She wasn't sure exactly what a "defiler of daughters" had meant but she wasn't about to ask. Not only that but he appeared smugly proud that potential death came his way every week for his misdeeds and if she let him leave he would make sure his people did not "hunt her down like an animal and butcher her in the streets." He was just the bad apple that Ysolda was talking about and he was certainly just like any other bandit that she would run into on a weekly basis. _

_She backed away and after a few deep breaths, notched an arrow, aiming at his chest. The voice in her head told her it was wrong, but essential if she wanted to get out of here, besides no one would miss him. He had done horrible things to people, she would be helping. It repeated in her head till she scrunched her eyes tight, her fingers reluctantly let go of the arrow. It soared through the air and sunk into flesh and with an audible groan of pain, the Khajiit doubled over as far as his bonds allowed, left to bleed to death. _

"_The conniving Khajiit. Cat like that was sure to have enemies. It's no wonder you chose him." Astrid broke the tense silence and the dark haired Nord slowly lowered her bow, eyes opening to see the dead Khajiit wilted over like a shriveling stalk of wildflowers, his blood like petals raining onto the floorboards. _

_She turned away and faced the assassin, taking a few steps until she stood just out of reach. "Was it him? Who had the contract?"_

"_Oh, no no no. Don't you understand? Guilt, innocence, right, wrong… all irrelevant." Astrid's tongue clicked in her mouth as her head shook. "What matters is I ordered you to kill someone and you obeyed."_

_She swallowed, eyeing the door with a great desire. She wanted to be out of here and as far away from the assassin as physically possible. "… Am I free to leave?" _

"_Of course. You've repaid your debt in full." Astrid held up the little bronze key, the light flickering on it like it was a gift from the heavens. "But why stop here? I say we take our relationship to the next level. I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my family, the Dark Brotherhood. In the southwest reaches of Skyrim in the pine forest you'll find the entrance to our sanctuary. It's just beneath the road, hidden from sight. When questioned by the Black Door answer with the correct passphrase, "Silence, my brother" then you're in. And your new life begins."_

_Astrid reached out and allowed the girl to take the key from her. Her hand quivered as she did but she accepted it nonetheless, turning to leave she avoided the sight of the dead cat. Her palm lifted to unlock the door, the lock clicked and she began to push the wooden frame open. It cracked and the chill of night entered carrying the smell of fresh air and deathbell flowers. Astrid's honey voice entered her ears, halting her before she could dash out into the night, "I'll see you at home." _

Looking back Astrid recalled the encounter to have been short, sweet, and to the point. Quick, and for the majority, painless. There had been no unnecessary suffering and the lack of bloodlust in her gaze was baffling considering what the specter had reported to her about the old woman in Riften.

"I see." A lengthy pause left the room pin-drop quiet until Astrid resumed her work. The scratch of the pen over the parchment broke the tension as the specter spun and left her to continue mapping out contracts. "Good evening."

Astrid swiped the ink over the Dwarven ruins of Raldbthar, turning her attention to the retreating form of the ancient Speaker as he vanished around the corner to the main room. Not bothering to bid him farewell as she wondered just why he was suddenly so interested in the initiate's killing preferences.

* * *

"Find the lizard at the wreck… And drag your blade across his neck." Cicero sang ending the tune in that mischievous and deep outstretched timbre before breaking out into a fit of chuckles. He clutched at the Listener's new ebony dagger, made at the Sanctuary's forge with Arnbjorn's help and guidance, his gloved hand running tenderly over the impressively sharp blade. His amber eyes gleaming with admiring mirth and madness as he studied the twin of his own weapon.

Hers was freshly crafted and sharpened to perfection by the grindstone, unlike his, worn by use over the years with a few nicks in the blade from hitting bone repeatedly. The rich metal covered in grooved decorative carvings adorning the hilt and swirled up the anlace and gleamed by the lantern's light as the wick flickered in the iron case. Looking over her work he twirled the weapon between his fingers, feeling the familiar weight with a nostalgic grin as he turned his attention back to her.

He began dancing on the spot when he saw the tentative and apprehensive smile spread over her lips at his newest song, glazed silver watching his motley glove curl over the hilt intently. She was crouched by a bed holding the thick furs up to search for some missing object beneath the structure. Now she was just staring at him from over her shoulder with the reluctant humor of a hesitant killer, a youngling, that Cicero wasn't sure if he found somewhat charming, in that naïve novice sort of way, or appalling, when he considered she was supposed to be the grand leader of assassins, still it amused him all the same.

"Cicero," she began, his name trailing sluggish off her tongue in a hesitance that made him frown. She looked dreadfully nervous, almost twitchy. "Could you do me a favor?"

"Oh, does it involve sneaking and stabbing?" He crowed excitedly, "Please say yes!"

"No, not this time." She responded with a hinted smile at his excitability, voice wavering in concern as she pointed to the ebony dagger. "Could you please put that down?"

"Of course, Listener." He flashed a cordial smile as he tucked the dagger back into its sheath and placed it on the nightstand, in precisely the exact spot he had found it. "Humble Cicero lives to serve."

She nodded and this time gave him a genuine grin of relief, "thank you."

Cicero on the other hand frowned much deeper as he watched her attentions venture to the darkest corners beneath the bed, picking up the quest to find her missing possession. The question rattled his mind with relentless persistence, a wave of skepticism on a bank of perplexity, the voice in his head teased him, laughing and mocking until he couldn't take the guessing any longer.

He walked over and sat upon the bed's edge, her hunched body situating upright at his proximity. "My dear Listener, you wouldn't be worried the Fool of Hearts would harm you… Would you?"

A red eyebrow notched in puzzlement, his burrowing stare trying to discern the riddle of a Nord clad in darkest robes before him. He was always aware of her mood around him due to those abandoned assassin instincts he had relied on so long ago that remained ever attentive to details, but he was certain she had been warming up to him recently. Especially this last week when he had taken the liberty of cheering her up while the ancient Speaker kept her on bed rest, which proved a challenge for even the most skilled of family. He wasn't very affective come day two because Listener had been insistent that she was fine and unbearably bored staying put all day, so she had spent a majority of time improving her crafting skills at the forge and watching Lucien make potions or use advanced restoration magic to heal her wound. Still, even with his entire magical and alchemy prowess a white sliver of a scar stained the flesh of her hip in a fluid testament to Dwarven craftsmanship, a constant reminder of treachery to mar delicate skin.

Whenever she was sentenced back to her bed for wincing of rubbing at her abdomen in the Speaker's vicinity Cicero would bounce into the room after tending to Mother and entertain her with jokes and dancing and bits of conversation.

Cicero sat still and waited for an answer that never came. Her silence stretching, overlapping the room like a vacuum and hurting his head. "So silent… So quiet, my Listener." Cicero pouted forlorn. How he hated the silence. Hated, hated, _hated_!

"… You wouldn't hurt me…"

"By Sithis, no!" His shrill voice shouted and Rosalind winced at the pitch ringing blaringly in her ears. He felt slightly sorry for her anguish when she cupped her hands on either side of her head but her moot emphasis was offending to his honor as both a Dark Brother and Keeper "Cicero loves the Listener, adores her. She hears our sweet Mother."

The Keeper beamed at the very thought of hearing the Night Mother's sultry voice, the octave of his own receding in turn as he squashed back the sourness of jealousy. "Besides, Cicero adheres the Tenets. He does! … Unlike the pretender, Astrid."

"You _and_ Lucien…" Distant thoughtfulness appeared on her face as a blank hazy concealed her irises, the side affect of a wandering mind. Cicero leaned in closer, staring intently as if trying to peer into her thoughts, find out where his dear Listener had gone because she wasn't here with him anymore. No, gone… So far away.

The wood frame of the bed squeaked under the shift of his weight and all too quickly she was back to staring at him attentively. "Neither one of you seem to like her much."

Her comment made Cicero giggle and he started humming to himself absentmindedly. "Speaker and Keeper are wiser than the rest… To understand the Tenets our Sanctuary should possess… Our charming mistress, pretender, abandoner of sacred law… In the Void the Dread Father will rip out her blasphemous jaw."

The utmost pleasure written on his face he looked like the madman he was left alone with a platter of sweetrolls and Rose frowned, a worried glint in her eyes that the Keeper caught as fear and perhaps some specks of repulsion. An assured smile danced in his eyes as he pressed his chin into his hands. "But Listener will understand too, you will!"

"You think so?" With Astrid's abandonment of rules other than her own she really hadn't much to worry about, but what would happen if she was fated to the Void upon her demise? Would the Dark Lord punish her for heresy, abusing the free rein of Astrid's dictatorship? She shuddered at the thought of spending an eternity in agonizing torture.

"Cicero knows so! The Speaker's thrall will see to it." He paused at the sudden look on her face and for at least the fourth time today he wished he could see into that enigmatic brain of hers.

"You look a little tense Listener. Would you like Cicero to give you a massage? Make you some tea? … Oh! Brush your hair?!" Cicero bounded over the opposing side of the bed, snatching the brush from off the dresser he plopped down onto the mattress behind her in record time. Raising the bush he pressed it to her head, pulling the bristles gently through her slightly tangled hair as he had many times before. "Such pretty hair you have Listener! So soft and black as a starless night."

Lucien's spectral form made quick work of the stairs with hardly a strain for a 200+ year old man. Granted he was a ghost but death had its perks. He rarely even ran dry on stamina or tired at all for that matter, his magika reserves were more than sufficient considering he never needed to heal himself, and if he did happen to "die" in battle there were no permanent repercussions. His abilities in death were near limitless and many activities he performed in life were not beyond his reach in his current state either, but there were moments he couldn't fully enjoy to their potential and in those instances he mourned the loss of his flesh and blood body.

His dark eyes picked out the enchanted garments of his protégée and when he traipsed through the living quarters he noticed the jester motley he had come to know very well. A part of him guessed the Keeper would manage to find his way upstairs and the loyal Imperial greeted him eagerly as his hands busied themselves with strands of ink, his Listener smiling shyly at his approach.

He abruptly halted by the bed noticing a knapsack stuffed with traveling gear and weapons lying on the floor as Cicero continued brushing out her hair as her form appeared to physically relax with each stoke. Something about having her hair brushed was like an instant calming affect. He had witnessed it on several accounts when Cicero proceeded to help her with the task due to the limited range she could reach before it aggravated the gash.

Maybe it was just a werewolf thing…

At first he had been opposed to leaving her, wounded and alone, with the deranged man but Cicero proved a loyal brother despite the mental state and Lucien found he had no reason to be worried that he would ever try to hurt another member, let alone the Listener. In the end it also gave him some free time which was always pleasant.

Lucien stood at the end of the bed watching the way her eyes drooped in amendable contentment as the Keeper ran the comb through her hair with utmost concentration and care. He picked out the knots and smoothed the strands down with a meticulousness that rivaled his own. The jester motley didn't suit him in these moments. Lucien could almost picture the Imperial clad in the Keeping robes as he tended to the Night Mother's Listener with all the care and devotion as he did with the unholy matron herself. Hands that held years of practice fingered the tresses until he was gingerly holding three equally distributed pieces, weaving and looping them as a braid formed upon the left side of her head.

"Look Lucien," Cicero held up the weaved strands of hair and twirled the braid between his fingers with an artist's pride. "Doesn't our Listener look pretty?"

The Keeper's comment rolled off deaf ears. Lucien was far too busy taking in the fact that she had went through all the trouble to pack all her things and never bothered to mention anything to him about running away again. Rich obsidian met aquamarine and her supple lips turned down at his sudden newfound displeasure. "I see you have decided to leave again."

"I have a contract." Rosalind informed in explanation, hoping to see his mood transform into the more laid back easy going one he had adopted during her recovery. Instead his eyebrows knotted as he scowled making her inch back into Cicero who had begun the task of pulling the braid loose, anything to keep him busy during the awkward tension.

"I'm aware." Lucien walked off leaving the two to remain in silence until Cicero's gloved hands fell away.

"Cicero thinks Lucien was upset over something…" He trailed off, his fingers running the length of his chin in thought.

Rosalind stood from the bed and grabbed her pack, throwing it over her shoulder to give the Keeper her farewells before tying her new dagger to her hip. Cicero skipped off with a grin saying something about picking flowers for Mother as Rose wandered downstairs finding the specter in his usual spot by the alchemy table.

… The showoff with his fancy potion making.

Grabbing a chair she pulled it up to sit near the table watching him work on grinding some dried out juniper berries into a fine powder, tapping her fingers on the wood nervously as he proceeded to ignore her. Her mouth opened and shut several times as she tried to decide whether or not she wanted to break the silence. There were always repercussions when he was angry but she finally swallowed her nerves, her voice squeaking out soft and quiet. "Speaker?"

When he didn't bother to answer her aside from a quick glimpse out of his peripheral she groaned inwardly and slumped over the chair's backing, pressing the underside of her chin onto the wood arch until each time she swallowed the pressure forced her head to rise. The quietness of the room was unsettling and the only noise was coming from the mortar and pestle.

"Do you-," she started, hands twisting and wringing at the excess cloth hanging down over her thighs. "I mean, would you want to go with me this time?"

"That depends," his voice was dangerously dark and seeking and she huddled farther into her seat. He was most certainly annoyed, but why he should be was still a mystery. Did he really care that much about secret plans and not being in the loop?

She scowled. Sometimes he was just too weird. "On?"

"Why you are asking me."

Confusion blotted out her critical expression as she pondered over what to say to him. "Um, because I was wondering."

He continued on with his work, grinding down the berries into a pool of dust whilst ignoring the questioning tone of her answer responding outright with a resounding, "then no."

"What?" The word tumbled chokingly out almost in a screech, utterly flabbergasted. Heaven forbid she be drinking anything at the time she would have spit it out all over him and the table, making a complete fool of herself. The idea was enough to make her shift and rub at the bridge of her nose in embarrassment.

"You heard me."

"But- Ok." Disillusioned she got up from her chair and clutched the strap over her shoulder, doing a mental checklist of all the things she had as she walked towards the incline to the main hall. She made it to the threshold and stopped beside the torches lighting the way, the babble of the waterfall and the crackle of the fire symphonizing. Her inventory check declined as her focal point veered more into the direction of slandering Lucien in her head. Grimacing when those coal eyes popped into her head, scrunched in distaste as per usual.

What the hell was his problem anyway? He never seemed to give two fucks when she left without him before and it's not like she didn't have his damn summoning spell if she needed him. The drama queen.

Snarling she gritted her teeth and marched back into the room with purpose, stomping up to him and slamming her hand on the alchemy table. Some potion bottles rattled and a bowl of vampire dust toppled off and spilt over the floor in a rain of purple powder. Lucien's brow quirked at her unusual brashness as she challenged him to a staring contest while growling at him demandingly, "Why don't you want to go with me?"

He almost smirked at this challenge of dominance and calmly set aside the alchemy equipment and advanced a few steps taking a great deal of satisfaction as she retreated. Five more and he'd have her smack-dab against the array of shelves with no place to run, completely at his mercy. Such visions brought pleasant memories of hapless victims drawing his attention to the weight at his hip, the dagger that much more evident in the moment. He stopped and glared down at her. "Why don't you want me to?"

She scoffed, her arm raising and jabbing towards the exit in a dramatic gesture. "I just asked you to go."

"Not for a sufficing reason." His arms crossed over his chest, his uneasily tranquil features and low voice made her shiver in a way that made her overwhelmingly sheepish.

Her arm fell to her side with a smack, eyes rolling as she relented. "Alright, I want you to come this time."

"Why?"

Her jaw dropped. So admission wasn't enough for him, he just had to torture her until he heard what he wanted. She duplicated his posture in a front to seem in control and mumbled, "Because… you were right and I was… wrong."

He nodded in agreement. "And?"

Eyes wavered to look at the floor, the apathetic un-judgmental floor. A deep sigh of exasperation leaving her lips as she sucked the bottom one between her teeth and bit. "You're a better assassin and I could learn from you."

Lucien's mirthful smirk took residence, his hooked finger finding residence under her chin as he tilted her head up and forced her to look at him. "In which case you will start _listening,_ correct?"

Scowling she smacked his hand away as he chuckled deeply, a rather teasing sound. The haunting rumble making her flush for unknown reasons but she guessed it was because he was laughing at her expense and that was always humiliating. "Yes, I will listen to you more often. Can we go now?"

Lucien made an extravagant sweep with his hand like a gentleman bidding a lady through a doorway. She wouldn't have been surprised to see him play it up by bowing deeply in sarcasm, which made her smile somewhat. Uptight Lachance did have a sense of humor after all. "Lead on, sister."

* * *

Deekus slung a knapsack over his shoulder, his leather armor cracking with the motions and added weight. His yellow eyes moved over the campsite he'd situated just beside Hela's Folly for convenience. All his salvaged jewels were locked up in a chest nestled by the bedroll and a bear trap lay open in waiting for any trespasser tempted to rob him of his hard labors. A Dibella statue stood in all her glory at the head of the makeshift bed. A fire was dwindling in the center of camp, a large wooden contraption of poles he'd made for roasting fish hung overhead like the sun in the sky. He raised a bucket out of a clump of wet sand and walked over to the dying embers, tipping out the water and snuffing the fire with hiss.

Although he could catch plenty of fish his alternate food supply of fruits and vegetables was running dangerously low and with so much of the ship left to explore he had resigned himself to a quick trip into town to restock on essentials and perhaps sell a couple treasures. Scanning over his work he breathed in the cold morning air sweeping in off the coast. The heavy odor of salt, sand, and seaweed mingled with the fresh air and invaded his nose and lungs with a burning chill. It was serene and tranquil with the lapping of the waves on the bank, the slosh of the water curling against the tide and spraying against rocks and wooden boards of the merchant ship. He could faintly make out the swarm of fish, their dark silhouettes circling the surface in search of struggling insects.

His tail twitched and his head cocked over his shoulder at the rattling of pebbled rocks raining down against a boulder some feet behind him. He swayed till he was directly facing the rock ledges, the bow of the boat carved into a dragoniod shape looming and casting a shadow over the ridge. His tongue flicked out as he tasted the salty sea air and inhaled deeply, seeking the scent of a trespasser.

A darkly scaled hand fell to linger on his blade and as he crept over to the mineral foundation he silently unsheathed it, stopping when he felt the chill float in the space between him and the bulky mass. Gripping the hilt tightly he lept, vaulting over to land desolate amidst a pile of snow dusted gravel. The lizard frowned and slid the sword back into the leather sheath as he mumbled under his breath, "hmm, thought I heard something."

Shrugging he ran a hand through the light blue feathers sprouting between two long spiked horns. It must have been some animal he had scared off. Turning he began his trek to Dawnstar, walking at a steady pace along the dirt path.

Beneath the water Rosalind hugged a collapsed board, decaying with wood rot, firmly to her chest to help keep her from floating to the surface, effectively eliminating the chaotic splashing that struggled kicks and erratic arm movements would cause. Eyes scrunched shut to keep out the salt water she released her grip, arms waving about seeking the surface and other obstacles as she swam upwards. Her hunting bow hanging loosely by the string around her elbow, her arm weaved through the center and a single arrow residing in her palm.

When she broke the surface she coughed violently, gasping for breath as she choked on the surrounding water lapping at her neck and chin. The boards above her squeaked and she swam out of the wreckage to crawl onto the snowy bank, her leather attire raining sea into the otherwise untouched crystals. Her black hair was plastered to her nape and cheeks that were tinted pink by windburn and frost, her entirety now completely soaked and shivering with the growing visibility of her breath.

She sputtered and coughed again, the back of her wrist dragging over each eye in a single fluid motion, ridding them of any lingering water. Looking down the road Deekus was nowhere in sight and she wasn't sure if she was elated or enraged.

So close.

Having snuck stealthily up the bank without detection she decided to use the boulders as cover. Finding a decent slab of rock to serve as a perch she had notched the arrow and aimed. He had been in her sights, the sharp metal tip of the arrowhead pointed prominently at his armored chest. She had been so close to finishing it, but at the last minute she hesitated, her hands shaking uncontrollably as Lucien grabbed her arm and then… she slipped.

A spectral hand clutched her shoulder, pulling her backwards until she was sitting upright on her knees. When she looked over he was hunched next to her gathering her soaked hair in his hands, clenching and draining out the excess. "We should follow him."

Rose nodded and Lucien stood, holding out a hand that she took with reddened fingers he helped hoist her onto her feet. He trailed his fingers to her midarm where he held fast guiding her down the road with a surprising gentleness as he blocked the seaside breeze from reaching her shivering form.

When they reached Dawnstar after a long walk of silence Lucien had disappeared in a warp of purple magic while Rosalind followed the Argonian into Windpeak Inn. She had dried off for the most part but she reeked horribly of the ocean and the prospect of perhaps getting a warm bath had her rummaging through her pockets as she took a seat on a stool by the bar. Deekus had bought a bowl of stew and a room and wandered over to a table to enjoy a meal that didn't consist primarily of fish.

The Nord owner, Thoring, came over soon after with a friendly smile. "What can I get you miss?"

"A room… and a bath would be nice," she replied hopefully as dug out a handful of coin and splayed it on the counter. The shiny bits of metal clanking as one twirled around on its ridges until it came to a stop.

"Sure thing. That'll be 15 septims." He informed watching her count out the gold and pocketed the remainder. She gathered her debt together and handed it over to him politely. He nodded to the right dumping the gold on a shelf beneath the counter. "Room's right over there. It's yours for a day and I'll see to your bath shortly."

"Thank you," she gave a small smile and walked into her rented room, plopping onto the bed as she waited eagerly, kicking off her enchanted boots in the process.

Thoring had brought in a small wash tub and a few buckets of clean water, laying them in the center of the room he retreated to begin boiling a few extra buckets so she could adjust the temperature to her liking. When that was done he left, making sure to close the door on his way out.

She dumped the cold water in first and added two buckets of the hot, reaching her hand in she stirred it around testing the temperature before stripping off her clothing. Her discarded bag was snatched up as she pulled a few bottles out and tossed it back onto the bed.

Rose set two bottles in the tub and they bobbed around on the surface. The other she used in the spare bucket, dumping a majority of its contents inside she sloshed it around until bubbles formed and then proceeded to dump her soiled garments into it. The flowery scent of the soap overpowering that of the sea as the grime soaked and lifted out of the Thieves Guild armor.

She eased into her own bath and proceeded to rinse the muck off her body and scrub the salt water smell out of her hair. Nails scratching over her scalp and running through the tresses, coating her head in the mix of honey milk and raspberry until her fingers ran smoothly without snagging.

Proceeding to rinse the makeshift shampoo away and towel dry herself off she rummaged through her things in search of something clean to wear. She twirled her shrouded robes in her hands and tossed them aside after a moment of consideration. The less attention she drew the better.

The door to her room opened and shut quickly. Fearful it may be Thoring seeing if she was finished she clutched the towel tighter to her bare chest and looked behind her. The Nord man was nowhere in sight but Lucien emerged from a blinding flash of purple light. "The target is in his room for the remainder of the night."

She nodded with a thoughtful hum, staring at him expectantly. When he didn't move she motioned with her hand for him to turn around, her grip on the towel turning her knuckles white. "Do you mind?"

The spirit turned away in a polite gesture, staring at the door and listening to the shuffling behind him. From the noise she was still rummaging through her belongings and may have broken a potion bottle in the process judging from the silent swear and the shattering clank. His foot tapped impatiently. The drunken ramblings and the ballad lofting through the crack in the door from the bard was getting on his nerves. He seriously didn't want to be here. "Why didn't you kill him?"

Rosalind paused in yanking the top of her shrouded robes on, her undergarments already in place and maintaining her modesty. His question had stunned her with its un-expectance and she was silent long enough to cause him to shift around. The creak of the floorboard panicking her enough into hastily wrenching her shirt down, smoothing it over her stomach while berating herself for forgetting to pack at least one dress. "You stopped me."

Vibrant onyx had turned on her. She could feel those burning coals on her back as she stepped into her pants and jerked them up with quivering hands. Fastening the buckle encompassing her waist she no longer cared how much of her skin he had seen in that brief moment with so many other emotions roiling in her gut. "If I hadn't you would have missed. What happened?"

She rounded on him, an intense bout of defensiveness making her strangely aggressive. "I was doing it."

Lucien scoffed cynically, "Hardly. You chocked."

They eyed each other and Rosalind bit her lip. She didn't know how to answer him without making him ashamed so instead she sunk down onto the edge of the bed and twiddled her thumbs, resolved to remain mute until he either departed or gave up the interrogation and dropped the entire situation for the night. Tomorrow she would suck it up and get it over with, even if she had to make him attack her first to do it.

Lucien advanced as she cupped her chin, her gaze burrowing into the floor. When he got close she turned away, refusing him her eyes and he sat urging her to confide in him. "Tell me."

Her dulcet whisper reached his ears in a pensive lilt, "He never did anything wrong."

He frowned at the confession but it wasn't beyond his expectations. He had a feeling she wasn't as cut out for murder as the remainder of the family, but if Lady Death had chosen her he had no other option than to help her overcome these moral restraints. "It is not your place to decide that. As an assassin your job entails you to eliminate an undesirable in a manner fit for the client. What they have done to harbor this attention is irrelevant."

Rose shook her head, her hand moving from her chin to cover her mouth like a mourner as she stifled the urge to cry. "You just don't understand."

"Oh, why kill Grelod? Because she was abusive to children and you saw that as wrong and deserving of death. What you consider worthy and what others consider worthy are never the same, just as it is with right and wrong."

Turning she glared at him in determination, leaning towards him menacingly. "She _was_ wrong. She _did_ deserve it."

He retreated slightly, giving in to her defensiveness as he raised a hand to silence her and relent. "I know this, but what I'm saying is you did what you deemed right in your eyes. Our contracts are doing the same. They see their situation and find no other alternative than murder. Of course some are far more deserving than others, but that is a matter of opinion."

Her eyes flicked to the side, no longer wanting to meet his gaze. "Did you ever hesitate?"

"No. I was always meant for this." He informed matter-of-factly giving no room for doubtful protest. Her face fell as her hope that he may be able to relate was crushed to dust, eroding beneath his stern certainty similar to the mountains disintegrated by rain and wind. "What you do is a job and as such you provide a service to a client. There is no difference between what we do and what a blacksmith does."

Did he just compare murder to the essentials of blacksmithing? Her bewilderment showed plainly at such a ridiculous statement. "I think there is."

He rolled his eyes, "That is the moral side of your brain over thinking." She huffed and drew her legs onto the bed, tucking her chest to her thighs as she cradled her shins. "Rosalind, you can't pick and choose your targets."

Rose rested her cheek against her knee as she stared at him, suddenly overcome with a longing confusion of wanting to understand him. What had happened in his life to make him turn to murder? Her reasons were benign and selfish at the same time and she never meant to get in so deep. All she wanted was to help people, like those poor children, and as Dovahkiin there was so much pressure and expectation on her shoulders.

The Brotherhood was like a haven from it all. No one but the dark family knew her there and when she wore those robes people avoided her, no longer pleading for favors and staring at her with high regards like she was Talos reborn or something. Still she was supposed to be a hero, the hero Skyrim needed to defeat Alduin, and even if they couldn't see heroics in murder she was still one as a Dark Sister. As the Listener. She had rescued abused children and extracted revenge on a worthless bandit for exploiting a family during a time of great mourning. Was that not heroic in some form? "What were you before you were an assassin?"

He drew back, looking slightly offended by such a personal question if not a little defiant and protective. "Nothing of importance."

"So?" A thin black brow arched at this new persona of his. "Tell me then."

"My Listener, there is nothing worthy to tell." He sounded more like he was trying to negotiate a price than throw her off a trail. If he didn't want to talk it would be easier for him just to say so because if Rosalind was one thing it was persistent.

The gears in her head were turning and she flashed a smile of straight white teeth. "That's not for you to decide."

Lucien couldn't help but return her cocky little grin as she turned his words against him. "Touché my dear."

"What was your mother like?"

His smile faded instantly, "Don't you think you're getting a little personal?"

"Are you afraid?" She taunted.

"Hardly," he growled going into his own defensive mode as he stood and paced away, his back to her as he stared out the window at the frozen land he had ventured long ago in his youth. Not much had changed, still beautiful with the lights that streaked the sky and the snow dancing from the heavens.

"I'm just trying to know you, be friends." As if she really needed to explain her reasons. He asked her things all the time and she answered even if she didn't want to. She cleared her throat, maybe if she shared he would reciprocate. "My mother died when I was born and I went to live with my father in Windhelm. He was a soldier and was away a lot so he hired a Khajiit woman to look after me. Her name was Shabhira and when I left home she went back to her homeland."

He listened intently and as he turned around his features still bore a reluctance that made her lips curve in that horrid disappointment. "How very interesting."

A heavy sigh left her lips as she turned around atop the bed. Her hand dug into her bag and ripped free another book that had become her newest fascination as of lately. "Forget it."

Lucien took rapid strides and before she could prepare herself his hand found the binding and with a sharp tug the book was separated from her clutches. She gawked at him shocked and enraged as he victoriously pranced over to the chair in the corner. His voice commanding as he gave her a final glance for the night, "Go to sleep."

She growled, a deep rumble that made any skepticisms of some werewolf residing somewhere within her fairly discarded. He flipped pages indifferently, reacting neither positively or negatively and she fell back onto the mattress. Tugging the blanket over her head she spent a night in off and on restless sleep.

When morning came they both trailed after the Argonian at a safe distance until they had made it back to the wreck. The lizard had gone about situating his purchased items into the various barrels littering the site when she snuck up behind him. He had been bent over, dumping out a sack of apples and before she could be dissuaded she had drawn the ebony dagger, sinking it into the back of his chest to penetrate his heart.

The blood oozed out, covering her hands. She pried the knife loose with a yank and it sent red droplets to litter both the ground and her clothing. The body slumped forward as he died and she dashed over to the shore to wash her hands of the offending substance, Lucien now fully visible behind her. "Good work."

She ignored his compliment, scrubbing her hands raw in the freezing water. By the time she was satisfied with the cleanliness her hands were a bright red and throbbing. A sickening feeling was stirring in her stomach much like when she had been forced to kill that Khajiit as Astrid observed her handiwork, only this time she didn't have the option of throwing up in the bushes and having a mental breakdown back at the Inn.

Rosalind pushed herself up and began a speedy pace in the opposite direction of the sanctuary, Lucien followed at her side in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"Winterhold. I have to meet Karliah," she informed as she tugged out the journal the elf had given her.

The specter sighed. It was only a matter of time before this particular problem would surface, he just hadn't been expecting it quite so soon. "I can understand your desire for revenge, but reckless impulsion will not help in your achievement. It is essential that you have a plan."

"Well I'm sure Karliah will know what to do after we get this journal translated." Rosalind nearly stumbled along the path, her eyes glued to the strange writings and symbols adorning the pages. They crinkled and flapped in the wind as she flipped through, skimming the book for the 5th time. Reluctant as ever to give up she held onto some farfetched bit of hope that it would somehow click with her brain and she'd amazingly understand each word.

Lucien kept pace at her side, matching her strides and scanning the area for enemies. Events had been relatively tiresome all morning aside from a few rabid ice wolves that met their end at his blade several miles back and of course the completion of the contract moments earlier. "Afterwards you simply want to barge into the sewer and accuse the glorified traitor with little more than the words of a dead man?"

Eyes hooded as he walked on, hearing her snort and the pages of the book start flipping erratically. He remembered treachery so very well, could still recall the daggers massacring his flesh, carving his jaw into a useless concave husk, tearing his hair and slicing off appendages. Fingers, toes, and … other parts. By the time it was over he was completely unrecognizable, bound by the ankles his lifeless corpse hanging listlessly naked from the rafters of the old farm house.

He had tried to convince them he was innocent, asked them to wait for his Silencer to bring the proof needed to collaborate his story, but they refused. Request falling on deaf ears as they unsheathed their weapons and proceeded to shred his robes to rags, striping him free of his garments before carving their vengeance upon his skin in an elegant dance, his excruciating wails, the music. He had screamed, and with master assassins taking their time to imprint the epitome of grotesque horror in warning to other traitors it wasn't too inconceivable, but he would never beg no matter how hard they tried.

In the end his fate had been bittersweet. "Sounds promising."

"Do you really have to be so cynical?" The book slammed shut and the noise made his head turn. She was slightly bent over as she fiddled with the bag trying to stuff the coded journal back inside and he was suddenly reminded of the delicate curve of her hips and bottom when she had rushed to dress herself back at the Inn. He squashed the image and stared ahead. "I'm sure Brynjolf will believe us when he sees what Gallus wrote."

His face scrunched in contemplation as he tried to place a face to the name. If he wasn't mistaken it was the redhead thief and potion vender he had noticed buzzing around her with promises of coin and fairytales. "You trust him that much?"

"Yes," she responded too instantaneous for his liking, his brow hooking with attentiveness, his eyes raking and scanning her face. "He did help me through a lot of things."

He scowled. He didn't like that secretive little smile she tried to hide or the shy way she watched the road traverse beneath them, a distant dreamy gleam in her eyes. "You're infatuated with him."

Her eyes widened, shocked and embarrassed as her face flushed. Her head jerked to stare at him almost screaming in denial, "No!"

Lucien's black gaze narrowed as they came to a standstill, facing each other in a standoff exchanging challenging looks. He stepped closer and leaned in, his face a few inches from her own when he growled, "Lies."

A cool sweep of air caressed her cheek as he breathed and she staggered back when she noticed her view had become less black and more of a pale aluminating blue. The outline of his mouth curved downward in malcontent. Glancing away she rubbed her forehead, a sudden headache was forming quickly. She _did not_ like Brynjolf and she _was not_ staring absentmindedly at Lucien's lips like a love struck teenager waiting for a kiss. "We aren't talking about this, and you better drop it or you're not invited on the next contract."

Lucien made a gruff snort that resembled a charging bull before walking off ahead of her. She heard the crunch of pebbles, dried leaves, and snow packed dirt as she stood there watching his retreating back. It was only when he stopped and cocked his head in waiting that she made an attempt to catch up.

* * *

Rosalind yawned as the door to the sanctuary bid her and the phantom welcome. She was exhausted. Not only had she been able to meet up with a man named Enthir, who upon question of Gallus immediately referred her to that crotchety old wizard in Markarth, but she had also been convinced to go to Volunruud to meet with Mr. Amaund Motierre by the ghostly Speaker.

Walking in she went straight to Astrid, who tried to wave her off almost instantly by telling her Nazir needed her assistance. She was sitting beside the fireplace in her bedroom, enjoying the warmth as a storm raged its vengeance outside. The older Nord hardly gave her a glance as she relaxed in her seat only drawing her eyes away from the flames when Rose dropped a slip of paper onto the unoccupied chair beside her.

The blonde looked at it before picking it up and turning it in her hand. "And this is?"

Rosalind glanced over at Lucien who gave her a nod of encouragement. She then turned her attention to Astrid who stared at her expectantly. "I went to see the client the Night Mother spoke of. He requested I give you that letter."

Astrid's hand nearly crumpled the not so sealed orders anymore, her form rising from the seat dangerously. She looked like she was about to spit fire and for a second Rose thought of Alduin's ruby eyes and his black curved horns on the day of her scheduled execution. "You went to meet him against my orders?"

"Yes," she replied, cupping her hands together as she stood her ground.

Astrid glanced at the crinkled letter and eased her grip. When she turned it over she noticed the wax seal was broken and her attitude worsened even more. "And I see you read sealed orders addressed to me." Her glare was deadly and for a moment Rose wouldn't have been surprised if the older woman turned a knife on her. With her superiority challenged Astrid became jittery and aggravated.

"Sloppy," she chewed out and pocketed the letter with intent to read it later. "I thought you and I had an understanding. I am in charge here and you will not disobey another one of my orders."

Rosalind remained silent as Astrid turned to walk out of the room in a rage, stopping when she noticed the Speaker that had been missing for over two weeks. She was slightly shocked when she put everything together and realized that Rose had actually taken him with her and even more so when she noticed the self-righteous smirk on his lips. So it was him that was feeding the rebellion. She snarled, "Lucien, I advise you to encourage obedience in our recruits lest you find yourself doomed to spend eternity in the Void. No more of your little 'outings.' Are we clear?"

The specter cocked his head valiantly, an assertive confidence spreading over his face. "Astrid, I feel its best you refer to me in a more professional manner. May I suggest Mr. Lachance?"

"Excuse me." Her anger sparked, burning brighter every second the spirit continued to smirk at her in that cocky arrogant way of his. How dare he speak to her in such a way! She was the leader and his constant challenging was pushing her farther and farther towards more drastic measures. Now with the appearance of a Listener she was becoming even more desperate.

"Oh, and do refrain from making empty threats. Less you forget that my summoning is reserved only for our Listener now, hence you have relinquished all authority and power over me." His black eyes were burning with a taunting delight, sadistically enjoying watching her struggle to keep hold of that power she had been permitted to herald for so long.

Astrid's sudden smile was unnerving, her voice much calmer. "Well then Mr. Lachance, why don't you and our 'Listener' attend to the current contracts while I review Motierre's letter and attend the details."

Lucien's gaze flicked to Rosalind and he nodded. "I assume we can attend to your menial tasks for the time being."

Astrid turned to her, "Good, Nazir is waiting."

Rose moved out of her room behind Lucien and they both moved towards the dining hall. She kept looking back over her shoulder till they rounded the corner and she narrowed her eyes at him. "She's pretty angry about all this… but of course you didn't exactly help matters."

Pure gratification decorated his face and abruptly he stopped in his tracks. Those sinister black eyes sparkling as he leaned in close and cupped her cheek. For a second her heart jumped. Was he going to kiss her? He wouldn't.

They were inches apart and he appeared the happiest she'd ever seen him, staring deep in her eyes. "You know, a good purification may be just what this sanctuary needs."

"…What?"

He chuckled and withdrew the chill of his hand from her face. "Never mind. Shall we receive our next contract?"

Lucien gestured for her to lead the way and she slowly started walking again, still very much confused by his uprising joy. "I guess."

The two walked in tandem into the dining hall, Rosalind staring at the smug grin on her Speaker's lips that refused to waver out of her peripheral vision the entire way, her heart still thumping erratically in her throat.

Tenet three, broken.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I know this one took a while, sorry about making you all wait so long but I had some computer issues. Anyway I hope it was decent and I apologize to the Cicero fans. Although I really like him as a character I feel like I can never do him justice :(

I tried my best though.  
Also I know I referred to Shadowmere as both male and female. This is because Lucien refers to Shadowmere as 'she' while Astrid says 'he' and after some research it is said that it may be genderless.  
Thank you for reading! Reviews are love!


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